


Dark Clouds & Silver Linings

by Chiyume



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Almost first time, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra suicide capsules, M/M, Mentions of Hydra Torture, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Sharing a Bed, War Fic, death and violence during war, healing cock, the Howling Commandos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 06:31:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13161237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/pseuds/Chiyume
Summary: The moment Steve lays his hand on Bucky after he drags him out of the burning Hydra facility, he realizes that something's not right. Bucky's changed, and Steve doesn't like it. It becomes even more apparent the more time that passes, and it doesn't take long before Steve decides that enough is enough. Confronting his friend, Steve offers Bucky his help. However, the path to recovery is a treacherous one, and Steve soon  learns that it takes more to help a friend in need than a mere supportive hand on the shoulder...





	Dark Clouds & Silver Linings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Claudia_flies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claudia_flies/gifts).



> **WARNING**  
>  This work depicts canon-typical acts of war performed by the Howling Commandos during WW2. If you are uncomfortable reading about Steve and Bucky in this kind of setting, this fic is not for you.  
> If you are unsure, please see the **End Notes** for more detailed descriptions (aka **spoilers** ) of what these acts are.
> 
> This fic is my gift to the lovely [Claudia_flies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claudia_flies/profile) as part of the Thighs of Destruction and Flexing Biceps Ridiculous Long Name That I Can't Remember Fully Right Now Secret Santa Gift Exchange :)  
> I hope you'll like it, honey <3
> 
> Beta by the ever so glorious and patient [NurseDarry](https://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) <3

As the first explosion erupts behind them, Steve doesn’t even stop to think. Blindly, he throws his arm out to the side to fist his hand in the back of Bucky’s tattered military sweater, yanks him in, and then down onto the ground. Covering Bucky with his own body, Steve can feel the shockwave tug at his clothes as it hits them a split second later. Several hard thuds against his helmet and the shield strapped to his back lets him know that even though they had successfully managed to get out of the Hydra stronghold before the initial blast, they still hadn’t been able to get fully out of its reach.

The roar of the blast is deafening, and Steve grits his teeth with a groan that’s literally inaudible in the turbulence that follows it. The earth beneath them trembles, the trees above their heads sway, and from the corner of his eye, Steve just barely manages to catch the glimpse of a concrete slab the size of his own head as it digs a hole into the ground with a vicious slam, a mere three feet away from where they’re cowering.

Bucky sees it too, Steve knows. Even so, Bucky doesn’t move during the eternity it takes for the remains of Hydra’s facility to rain down from the sky. Yet through the chaos of following explosions and falling debris around them, Steve still hears his friend’s breath catch every time pieces of the wreckage make impact with Steve’s shield, like an anxious echo of the metal itself. 

Eventually, the chaos ends, and Steve slowly stands up to assess the remains of their surroundings. He reaches down to help Bucky up as well, but Bucky’s already staggering to his feet, jaw clenched and grim eyes turned towards the burning ruins they just left behind.

The smoke is rising to the heavens in thick, billowing clouds lit up by the blazing fire. There’s another light growing as well, and as Steve peers between the trees, he sees the first glow of the rising sun climb the horizon ahead of them. The night is over.

“Are you alright?” he asks over his shoulder. However, as Bucky remains quiet, Steve turns around. He figures that perhaps the blast left Bucky’s ears ringing so he can’t hear him yet, but still, even as Steve turns to check, the last thing he’s expecting is to find Bucky standing there, looking straight at him. With eyes wide, and his mouth hanging open in a silent gape, Bucky is staring at Steve like he’s some otherworldly apparition. He’s got a look on his face that Steve’s never seen before, and for some reason it both intrigues and frightens him at the same time.

“Bucky?” Steve repeats. “Are you alright?”

Bucky blinks, and slowly drops his gaze to the ground.

“I’m fine,” he says with a casual shrug. “Few bruises, is all.”

However, there’s something about the way he says it. Something small and brittle, yet harsh and defiant in its very nature that makes Steve’s thoughts backtrack to himself as a scrawny, sickly kid, standing in the corner of the school yard with a split lip, and a younger version of Bucky by his side, asking him the very same thing and getting the same reply. 

The mental image is so clear, it’s like looking at a photograph, and just like that, the relief suddenly becomes overwhelming. Steve steps in and slaps his hand down over Bucky’s left shoulder, squeezing tight, and as he does, two things happen.

The first is that Bucky’s breath stalls, and Steve can feel the tension in the other man’s body as Bucky’s muscles immediately pull taut beneath the touch the moment it lands on his shoulder. Then, as Steve meets with the wide-eyed look in Bucky’s eyes, the tension evaporates as Bucky lets out a sharp exhale of air through his mouth, and relaxes.

It means something; something significant, Steve knows. He wants to ask, wants to say something – anything – but before he can, another explosion from behind them snaps him out of his daze, and the moment is lost. 

“We should meet up with the others,” Steve says, stepping back as he lets his hand drop to his side. “A scene this big will draw attention.”

Bucky licks his lips, and as he opens his mouth to speak, his voice is softer than before, “The others?” he asks hoarsely. Steve looks at him. Then he smirks.

“You didn’t really think I came all this way just for  _ you, _ did ya?” he teases. Bucky snorts out a laugh and rolls his eyes, and Steve’s relieved to see Bucky’s mouth twitch up into a smile as Steve walks past him to take the lead. Bucky falls in behind him without any objections or hesitation, and together they begin to make their way between the trees in what Steve decides should be the right direction.

There’s a lot of things he wants to ask; and he’s pretty sure that Bucky must have even more questions, but that conversation will simply have to wait a little while longer. The most important thing right now is to get them all home in one piece, and they’re – literally – not out of the woods yet. 

For now, Steve is just happy that Bucky’s here with him. And that he’s  _ alive. _

 

/\/\/\ 

 

“A week,” Bucky states flatly.

“Yeah,” Steve argues, “but—”

“I wasn’t even gone  _ a week _ ,” Bucky repeats, exasperated. “And still,  _ somehow, _ you managed to go and volunteer your sorry-ass self to be a fucking military super-experiment.  _ Really, _ Steve? I mean, did I even have time to leave  _ port  _ before you went off begging to be recruited?”

“Well, technically…” Steve starts, and on the opposite side of the makeshift trench the two of them are huddled up in, Bucky stills with a firm glower aimed Steve’s way.

“Technically  _ what? _ ” he asks slowly.

“I mean…” Steve squirms. “We  _ had _ said goodbye?”

“Oh, dear god,” Bucky groans, burying his face in his hands. “You have got to be kidding me; the same damn  _ night? _ ”

“Sorry?” Steve tries.

“Don’t say shit you don’t mean, you punk,” Bucky grumbles. Then he aims a shallow, but reprimanding kick at Steve’s left boot, and Steve flinches away with a snicker. 

“Aw, c’mon,” he argues. “You had to have known that I wasn’t gonna just sit back and be a good boy while you were gone? You’re not stupid.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know about that,” Bucky says, chuckling as he leans back against the trench wall to pulls his legs up, resting his arms on his knees while looking up at the night sky. “I mean, I  _ hoped  _ that’s what you were gonna do, but evidently hoping wasn’t enough.”

“Nice try, though,” Steve offers.

“Seriously,” Bucky says as he turns his eyes from the gleam of the stars to look sternly at Steve. “What in god’s name were you thinking? I mean, you could have  _ died. _ Hell, you could have—” He shakes his head with an exasperated sigh. “You had literally  _ no idea _ what they were gonna do to you. What those  _ drugs _ would do to you.”

“It all turned out pretty good though, don’t you think?” Steve says pointedly with a gesture to his own chest, but Bucky’s having none of it.

“But you didn’t  _ know  _ that,” he insists. “Steve, for Christ’s sake…”

“I  _ know, _ ” Steve groans. He closes his eyes and ducks his head as he repeats, “I know. But I had to do  _ something _ . And if they wouldn’t let me join the fight as I was…”

“You could have stayed at home,” Bucky mutters. “You would have been  _ safe. _ Not running around by yourself in the middle of fucking  _ Austria _ , infiltrating Hydra bases on your own, and—”

“And you would have been dead,” Steve counters, before adding, lower, “Or worse.” 

Bucky swallows hard and stares down at the ground between his feet. As he wrings his hands, Steve can hear him drag in a deep, grounding breath through his nose, but he doesn’t say anything. Bucky’s got that strange tension in his shoulders again, and Steve doesn’t like it one bit. Slowly, he extends his leg and gives the side of Bucky’s boot a nudge with the toe of his own. “Hey,” he coaxes. “It’s not all bad, is it? I mean, after all; here we are. Together. Alive. New and improved?”

“At least one of us is,” Bucky says with a snort as he nods towards the star peeking out beneath the jacket covering Steve’s chest. “I mean, look at you. What the hell are they even feeding you these days?” 

“Standard rations,” Steve confesses simply. “Though, I’m pretty sure I could make it on half. My metabolism runs sky high, but only when it comes to stuff that would hurt me. Like toxins. Standard nutritions seem to work differently.”

“Good, then you won’t mind it if I steal your Logan Bars from now on.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Steve objects.

“See it as punishment for being such a dumb little shit.”

“You know,” Steve points out smugly, “I’m not sure you can actually call me ‘little’ anymore.”

“Fine,” Bucky barters, “an enormous dumb shit, then.”

At that, Steve can’t help but laugh, and he’s relieved when Bucky laughs back, making his muscles go visibly loose and pliant once more.

“Jokes aside,” Bucky says, smiling at him, “you look good, pal. Like… healthy, I mean.”

Steve nods and gnaws on his lower lip for a moment before answering, “Feelin it, too.” 

“No more asthma?” Bucky asks. Steve shakes his head.

“No more asthma.”

“Really?” Bucky pushes, and Steve can see his eyes widen with impressed surprise in the dusk. “Like, not even a little tickle every now and then?”

“No.” Steve shakes his head, “There’s nothing. It’s just… gone, all of it; the asthma, the arrhythmia, the pain… It’s like they weren’t even there to begin with. ”

“Huh,” Bucky huffs, sounding genuinely too impressed for words. “Well, I’ve gotta admit, that’s doesn’t sound half bad.”

Steve looks at him, and as Bucky lifts his face to the sky once again, Steve notices the little cloud of breath that billows out of his mouth.

“You cold?” Steve asks. He nods towards the tattered holes in the military henley Bucky’s got on. “You should go find a jacket or something before you get sick.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky says, and when Steve gives him a look he adds, “Honestly, I don’t feel cold at all.”

Steve thinks about arguing, but he doesn’t. Instead, he kicks at Bucky’s boot again.

“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“What’s this?” Bucky asks with a snicker. “You’re suddenly taking care of me now?”

“I figure I owe you,” Steve replies. “I mean, after that whole thing with the flu last year, I’m pretty much indebted to you for life.”

“Don’t overdo it, punk, or you’ll pull something,” Bucky scolds, snorting out a laugh. “Besides, in case you’ve forgotten, you kinda saved my hide less than twenty-four hours ago. Consider the debt paid.”

Steve’s lip gives a little twitch, but he doesn’t say anything. Bucky’s gone back to staring down at his boots again, and Steve knows that his friend is gearing up to say something more. As expected, a few beats later, Bucky shifts a little as he lifts his gaze to glance at Steve from the corner of his eye.

“Thanks, by the way,” he murmurs. “You know… for coming to get me. Us.”

Steve nods, meeting Bucky’s gaze and feeling his lips give a fond twitch at the familiar look of sincerity that greets him. 

“Don’t mention it.”

Bucky smiles – short, but dazzling. Then he turns his face back to the sky above them, and Steve watches him close his eyes with a deep, contented sigh that dissolves into the chilly November night in a white puff of smoke.

 

/\/\/\

 

They reach base camp a mere day’s march later. Steve’s reception turns out much less disciplinary than he had anticipated. Really, he had expected to be court martialed, not given the military equivalent of being sent to bed without supper…  

Peggy is glad to see him, of course. He hadn’t really envisioned anything but. As for Colonel Phillips… well, Steve understands the importance of professionalism in his case; but the silent hand on the shoulder Philips gives him before he sends him away is honestly more of a congratulation than Steve needs.

The positive greeting, however, doesn’t save him from the mandatory medical check-up that gets issued for the returning soldiers of the 107th a few minutes later. Steve tries to object by pointing out his rather unique condition – which _should_ be enough to warrant such a procedure moot – but the orders are more than clear. And so, Steve is eventually and reluctantly ushered to the aid station along with the others.  

The aid station, which in this case is a tent, is already brimming with soldiers. Steve quickly makes his way through to the back of the tent while trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. If he sticks to the far end, perhaps the field nurses will overlook him and leave him for last. After all, there are men in here who need the attention more than he does. 

Of course, the prospect of remaining anonymous in this setting is pretty much futile, as every single one of the freed prisoners already knows who he is at this point. He can hear them whispering around him, see them pointing and nodding their heads his way, although always keeping their distance and staying out of his personal space. It makes Steve feel like he’s back on stage again – an exhibit for everyone to stare at – and he can’t even begin to describe the pulse of relief that goes through his system when he sees the canvas of the tent get pulled aside, and Bucky walks through the opening.

Bucky spots him immediately, and given that there’s a little empty circle around Steve’s person inside the otherwise crowded tent, Bucky doesn’t even have to push his way through to get to him. 

“Hey,” he greets, looking Steve up and down with a confused frown. “I didn’t realize y _ ou _ needed medicine?”

“I don’t,” Steve replies grumpily. 

“So you’re here for what?” Bucky snickers. “Moral support?

“Something like that,” Steve retorts. “Why, you want me to hold your hand?”

Bucky snorts out a laugh and promptly folds his arms over his chest as he casually leans back against one of the tentpoles by Steve’s side. “Yeah, you’d have a field day with that one, wouldn’t ya?” he mutters under his breath; so low Steve wouldn't even have picked up on it had he not been recently blessed with super-hearing.

Steve curiously glances to the side to take in his friend’s appearance, and as he does, he can’t help but notice a few things that brings a worried crease to his brow. 

Bucky’s fidgeting. His fingers are tugging at the fabric of his sweater; twirling and pulling at loose threads, pinching and rolling the fabric between the tips of his fingers. There’s a tight clench to his jaw that’s only interrupted by the way Bucky keeps licking his lips and tugging at them with his teeth; constantly gnawing and biting to the point where the soft rose is quickly turning an angry shade of blood red through the delicate skin.

He’s also constantly shifting his weight where he stands by moving it from one foot to the other, and the whole display makes Steve feel uneasy. Bucky’s never nervous; or at least not visibly so. For as long as Steve’s known him, Bucky’s been the master of keeping his emotions in check while in public. Always calm. Always sturdy. Now, he’s slowly shrinking into a near-cower with every name and number that gets called up ahead of them. Like he’s scared.

“Hey. Are you alright?” Steve asks quietly, and Bucky flinches – actually reels back from the low murmur of Steve’s voice – before quickly straightening up.

“I’m fine,” comes the predictive reply. A lie, and not even a good one.  

“No, you’re not,” Steve retorts. In return, Bucky blinks, and just like that, it’s like watching a wall of ice rise to hide whatever’s going on on the other side of those wild, grey eyes as Bucky goes into defensive mode; jaw setting, shoulders squaring.

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he states firmly, now with an edge of steel in his voice.

“I didn’t say wrong,” Steve argues. “I’m just saying you don’t look  _ well. _ ”

“Oh, so you’re a soldier  _ and  _ a nurse now?” Bucky says with a lowering snort. “What other professions did you learn while I was gone?”

“Bucky,” Steve reprimands softly, but he doesn’t have time to say anything else before a nurse at the front of the tent steps forward with a pen and clipboard in hand, and firmly calls out, “32557038, Barnes, James Buchanan.”

Without as much as a glance back at Steve, Bucky steps to the front of the line. Steve follows him. He doesn't ask if he's allowed, or if Bucky wants him to come along, because frankly he doesn't care at the moment. The nurse gives him a glance – just one – and visibly reaches the conclusion that Steve is not about to let himself be moved or argued with on the matter, so she just shrugs and turns back to Bucky, who's still staring straight ahead as if neither of them is even there.

“Please sit,” the nurse says as she gestures to the medical gurney in front of them, Bucky sends Steve a quick, stealthy glance which Steve pretends not to notice, before swallowing hard and obediently hopping onto the slab.

“Shirt,” the nurse instructs, and having seen others go through the same procedure, Bucky grabs the hem of his shirt and drags it over and off his head in a single movement.

Steve blinks, and manages to turn the surprised noise trying to push its way out of his throat into a low, barely concealed gasp.

Admittedly, it hasn't been that long since he last saw Bucky without a shirt on, and it's only been about a month since Bucky shipped out in the first place, but… Steve’s seen enough of the soldiers on their march back to camp to realize that Bucky doesn't look anything like the typical soldier returning from the field; even less so from being imprisoned by the enemy.

Bucky should be slimmer. Lanky, and perhaps even bony in places, but instead he almost looks  _ thicker _ . The muscles of his arms, chest, and abs are all visibly defined, and as slender as his body is at the core, Bucky's definitely gained a bit of a bulk since Steve last saw him. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd say it looks like Bucky’s been frequenting the local gym rather than the front lines of a raging war.

Steve is so busy trying to figure out what he's seeing that he doesn't realize that he's staring until Bucky suddenly looks his way, meeting his gaze. 

It's like getting dumped in a pool of cold water, and Steve quickly turns his eyes to focus on the stomped-down ground between his boots. He feels his ears flush in embarrassment; which is ridiculous, really, because it's not as if he had been caught doing anything  _ wrong. _

By the time he can force himself to look back up, Bucky has gone back to staring straight ahead once more. His expression is tight, and Steve can see him clench his jaw over and over while the nurse proceeds with the examination.

Steve watches, his attention once again on tenterhooks, and the more he sees the more apparent it becomes that Bucky’s not even remotely comfortable with the current situation. The moment the nurse places her hand on his arm, Bucky recoils from the touch– not by much, but enough for Steve to register it as a reaction out of the ordinary. The muscles of Bucky’s normally relaxed shoulders are tense as the nurse looks him over, and the constant clenching of the jaw doesn’t let up even once. Before long, the tension has turned into a tremble that Steve can’t see, but a part of him – one that has nothing to do with his enhanced senses – can feel it as clearly as if he’s the one currently with his hand on Bucky’s skin.

The air in the tent suddenly feels thick; charged like before a thunderstorm, leaving a metallic taste at the tip of Steve’s tongue. Coppery. Like blood.

The nurse asks Bucky questions, and Bucky replies with quiet yes’s and no’s to each and every one, but even though the nurse surely hears the voice of nothing more than yet another exhausted soldier, the tone that reaches Steve’s ear is anything but. Bucky sounds… wrong. Like hearing a pet dog suddenly growl when you expect nothing but a wag of its tail. 

The metaphor barely has time to flash through Steve’s mind before suddenly, the growl of Bucky’s voice explodes into a snarl, and the nurse screams. 

Bucky’s fingers are curled around the woman’s wrist in  grip so tight, the blood flow to her hand is quickly being cut off.  The poor nurse is squirming to get away, but to no avail, but her struggle is not what has Steve running scared. 

It’s the empty look on Bucky’s face.

His eyes are blank and hollow; iced over with an apathy so cold it’s like staring into the bottom of a frozen ocean. The upper lip is pulled up to reveal the predatory gleam of teeth, and the image is just as unexpected as it is frightening. 

“Bucky!” 

Steve steps in and grabs Bucky’s arm, feeling the tremor of the muscles there travel through his own limbs as he does so. Bucky doesn’t budge, or even look at him. Around them, the commotion causes the men to stir, and Steve can hear the buzz around the tent die out as the soldiers’ gazes are directed towards them, one by one.

“Buck, calm down,” Steve hisses under his breath. “Let her go.”

There is a moment – a brief flicker of time – when Steve doubts that Bucky actually will. A split second when the fear inside his chest spikes into a flare of panic, and then Bucky’s chest heaves in a shuddering intake of breath, before Bucky lets the woman go with an audible rush of breath.

“I’m sorry,” he grates as the nurse rubs around her bruised wrist. “I didn’t mean to— I just—”

“What happened?” Steve asks, both towards Bucky and the nurse. The nurse answers first.

“I was going to check the cuts on his face and he just went crazy,” she says with a glower, and Bucky cringes.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats weakly. “I… I just don't like it when people touch me…” 

“It’s not your fault,” Steve promises. “I’m sure you’re not the first prisoner of war who’s reacted like that.” He says the last part with a pointed glance towards the nurse, who looks away when she meets his gaze. 

“Are we done?” Bucky asks. His voice is hoarse, with something wet that clings to the end of his sentence, and Steve is pretty sure that even if the nurse hadn’t replied to the question with a nod, Steve himself would have demanded the checkup to be stopped nonetheless.

Bucky’s posture doesn’t lose any tension as he pulls his shirt back on without a word, and the nurse gestures for Steve to take Bucky’s place on the gurney. Steve’s positive that it’s not really his turn yet. Just like he’s positive that the only reason she’s letting him cut the line is simply to get both Bucky and him out of her tent as soon as possible.

Steve looks at Bucky, and Bucky gives him in slight nod in return. He’ll wait.

“Shirt,” the nurse instructs once more, as if Steve hadn’t been there to hear it the first time. Steve manages to hold back a sigh as he shrugs off his leather jacket and get to work on removing his star-embellished shirt. He’s glad that he only has to take his shirt off and not his pants as well. He’s got his battle dress pants on, but underneath he’s still wearing his blue tights from his stage performance. And he really doesn’t need Bucky – or any of the men he’s just saved, for that matter – to see  _ those. _

The shirt comes off easy, and Steve gets on the gurney to patiently await further instructions. As the nurse places the stethoscope against his chest, Steve throws another quick glance at Bucky, just to see if he’s still doing okay, only to find Bucky staring at him with his jaw slack in amazement. Not that Steve finds that strange; after all, he must look more different to Bucky than how Bucky does to him.

Bucky quickly looks away when Steve meets his eye, but rather than turning his gaze to the ground like Steve had done earlier, Bucky only manages to drop his as far as the front of Steve’s chest before it gets stuck once more. Whatever he’s thinking, Steve can’t read it, and the look on Bucky’s face makes Steve feel strangely naked where he sits with his hands in his lap like some bashful schoolboy.

Steve is perfectly aware that technically, there’s an entire tentful of people staring at him right now, but it’s the fact that Bucky is one of those people that matters to Steve at the moment. For so many years, Steve had been the one to look at Bucky with such admiration and envy, wanting, but also knowing that he’d never be able to have the kind of physique as his best friend has. To have the tables turned like this feels… close to shamefully gratifying.

He turns his head back to look front and center again, and comes face-to-face with a pair of quizzically arched eyebrows as the nurse gives him a long look. Steve quickly clears his throat and wills his heart to slow down as the nurse removes the stethoscope from his chest and scribbles a note onto the papers on her clipboard. Steve makes a conscious decision not to check if Bucky’s still looking at him during the remainder of the checkup.

Once he’s done and back in his clothes once more, he and Bucky are sent out of the tent to await further orders. The camp is calm, and most men have already settled in their tents, or in the improvised mess hall. There’s a comfortable ambient buzz of voices, and even though the volume is low, it’s obvious that the ones not already asleep are busy celebrating.

It feels comfortably familiar, walking with Bucky down the main road of the camp. It reminds Steve so much of the late summer evenings when they used to walk through Brooklyn on their way to a dance, or back home, or just walking in general. Sure, it’s colder now, but there’s a carefree spirit in the air, as if all the troubles of the world have been disbanded, just for a night.

The sentiment is so strong, when Steve turns to give Bucky a look from the corner of his eye, he automatically looks up, before he realizes that the two of them are actually about the same height now, and adjusts his gaze accordingly.

“Feelin’ better now?” he asks casually, and he’s relieved when Bucky, rather than putting up a fight, simply lets out a snorted laugh.

“Actually, yeah,” he replies. “I mean… I’m still feelin’ bad about what I did back there. You know… with the whole…” He makes a grabbing motion with his hand, and then lets it drop back by his side with a tired sigh. “I honestly don’t know what happened.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” Steve assures him. “I mean, you didn’t actually hurt anyone. You just—”

“Panicked?” Bucky supplies helpfully, and Steve lets out a chuckle.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I guess that’s a good name for it.”

They take a turn to the left, heading towards the west side of camp, away from the noise and the voices, and Bucky nonchalantly kicks a rock out of their path with a huff.

“You think she’ll report it?” he asks suddenly. Steve slows his steps as he glances at him, before looking ahead again.

“Nah,” he decides. “There’s no reason. And I think she already had her hands full enough than to care about some guy who simply didn’t like having his face touched.”

“Right…” Bucky suddenly snorts. “Not to mention that you probably managed to distract her well enough to forget about it the moment you took your shirt off.” 

This time, Steve laughs out loud, and next to him Bucky echoes him as he gives Steve a playful shove in the side. 

“C’mon, I saw the look she gave you,” Bucky prompts. “From my experience, when a dame arches her eyebrows at you like that, it usually means you’re going to get your face smooched off the moment she gets of her shift.”

“I think you’re being a bit too optimistic about that,” Steve says, even as he tries not to think too hard about the way his heart had skipped a beat back in the tent, and thus  _ why  _ the nurse had given him that look in the first place. 

“As always, you’re the designated pessimist of the two of us,” Bucky comments. “Tell you the truth, I’d like to meet the girl who’d turn down the new and improved Steven Rogers. I mean, look at you. You’ve even got the military dames pining for you now.”

“What?” Steve asks dumbly.

“The brunette who greeted you when we came back?” Bucky reminds him, arching his left eyebrow. “The one with the lips and the hips?”

“Peggy?” Steve asks, and he’s mortified to hear his own voice make an involuntary little squeak on the second syllable of the name. Bucky, on the other hand, grins cheekily at him, and Steve finds himself unable to meet the blatant look in his eyes. Instead, he turns his gaze to the ground by his feet and rubs his hand across the back of his suddenly warm neck.

“Peggy’s just a friend,” he explains. 

“A friend?” Bucky echoes teasingly.

“A very good friend,” Steve clarifies. “She’s the one who helped me through this whole military experiment phase. Without her, I wouldn’t have been able to get into Austria in the first place, and I… Well, I owe her a lot.”

“Oh, I think she’s got a few ideas on how to pay her back,” Bucky assures him, still grinning, and Steve grimaces, because  _ no. _

“No,” he says out loud. “Absolutely not. We’re friends, and you’re being a sleazeball. Stop it.”

“Fine, fine.” Bucky rolls his eyes to the darkening sky above. Then, he sighs and shakes his head, admitting defeat. “So,” he says instead, “if girls and the fruit of fame aren’t in the cards for you, what is? Where does the mighty Captain America go from here?”

At that, Steve actually pauses. Stopping, he looks up at the sky above them, now slowly turning a golden red as the sun sets behind the treetops ahead. 

“You know what,” he says after a few beats. “I don’t really know.” Looking down at his boots, he follows Bucky’s example from before and kicks aimlessly at a rock lying near his left foot. “As far as I know, I might get shipped back to the States to continue the war bonds tour.”

“Oh, fuck that,” Bucky says, making a face. “You’re a war hero now, not a showgirl.”

“Bucky,” Steve whines, “I’m not even a real soldier.”

“Sure you are.”

“Stealing an airplane and a uniform doesn’t make you a soldier.”

“So you’re saying what,” Bucky asks skeptically, “that you  _ wanna _ go back?”

“Of course I don’t,” Steve grumbles. “But it’s not like they can just stick me into any squad that happens to be short on men and expect it to not mess things up. I don’t wanna blow my own horn here, but I’m not exactly a standard edition soldier, and morale is a very important thing. Trust me, it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

He kicks at another rock, harder, and they both watch as it casually soars a good foot or so over the pines surrounding the camp’s perimeter, twenty yards away. The symbolism ridiculously clear.

“What if—” Bucky suddenly starts, but cuts himself off to gnaw on his lower lip.

“What if, what?” Steve asks curiously.

“No, I just… I was just thinking, what if you already had a squad?”

Steve frowns. “I don’t follow,” he admits.

“I mean,” Bucky says, turning to face Steve on the little path they're still on, “if you had a squad – a  _ special  _ squad – of people who’d be willing to follow you, wouldn’t that solve the problem?”

“I’m not a leader, Buck.”

“Sure you’re not,” Bucky counters, evidently in disagreement, but when Steve just cants his head to give him a disapproving look, Bucky sighs. “Alright then, not  _ follow  _ you; fight  _ with  _ you. Would that be something that could work?”

“Maybe…” Steve reluctantly admits. “If the Army approves. And provided we can find the men, of course.”

At that, Bucky smiles; firing off that cheeky grin that Steve knows oh, so well.

“You know what,” Bucky says conspiringly, “I think I know just the fellas to ask…” As Steve’s confused frown only deepens, Bucky’s smile widens, and Steve knows that whatever dumb shit it is that Bucky’s about to suggest they do, Steve’s probably gonna end up agreeing to it either way. 

 

/\/\/\ 

 

The Howling Commandos – or Howlies, as they’ve begun to call themselves – turn out to be a much greater success than either Steve or Bucky could have anticipated. Not only do the generals immediately agree that an elite squad led by Captain America himself is an absolutely marvelous idea; they also approve all the soldiers Steve suggests to them, no questions asked. It’s almost too good to be true. A sentiment that only grows when all the men Bucky’s recommended agree to join them. 

Before he knows it, Steve finds himself appointed squad leader of the most motley crew he’s ever seen. Not that Steve considers that as a bad thing; quite the opposite. They all possess qualities, experiences, and areas of expertise that mesh perfectly with one another, and the description ‘elite’ indeed seems an appropriate choice for the group the more Steve learns about their many military skills during their missions.

As for their  _ social  _ skills, however… Well, that’s a different story. A group of people with such diverse backgrounds, not to mention nationalities, makes cultural collisions a near impossible thing to avoid. They’re all little things; like how Dugan keeps making fun of Dernier’s cooking skills (or lack thereof, as far as Steve’s concerned), Morita’s seemingly compulsive need to slurp his food, no matter what it is, or Jones’ and Falsworth’s daily bickerings regarding the ‘correct’ way to pronounce certain words.

All innocent topics. All harmless. 

On a good day.

On bad days, however, what’s normally considered a light-hearted comment becomes a declaration of war, and Steve has to shoulder his commanding title and step in to make sure one doesn’t unfold. Most of the time, he just wants to grab the offenders by the scruff of the neck and knock their heads together, but he knows that he can’t. The Howlies are all good men, and tougher than most, but they’re still  _ men _ . They get tired, hungry, hurt. They miss their families, their friends, their homes, and that takes its toll on any soldier.  

Steve is glad that he has Bucky to help him out when things get too rough. Steve may be strong, but sometimes it takes more than the span of two strong arms to make a couple of soldiers bury the hatchet. Bucky is dependable, and he knows his way around the proverbial trenches in a way Steve doesn’t. At least not yet.

Steve’s happy to have him around. Of all the times he used to daydream about joining the war in the past, he had automatically imagined doing it with Bucky by his side, even though knowing that it wouldn’t turn out like that, if at all. Yet here he is, and Bucky is indeed right here with him. On one of those bad days, remembering that is enough to make Steve feel better. Less burdened, somehow.

He sees the same relief in Bucky too. It’s evident in the way Bucky searches him out every so often, just to exchange a few words about nothing and everything, or bring him food (when Dernier’s not the one in charge of cooking). At first, Steve hadn’t paid it much thought, but the longer they’re out in the field, the more he notices that there’s a pattern to it.

Bucky  _ really  _ likes to stay close. 

Like… actually  _ physically  _ close. 

It had started simply enough, which is the main reason as to why Steve hadn’t thought much of it to begin with. Like the way Bucky comes up to stand by Steve’s side during their mission briefings, and how they often end up pressed shoulder to shoulder by the end of them, hunched over a map on the hood of some muddy military vehicle. 

That’s how it had started, at least. Then, before Steve knew it, the touch had grown into something more… tangible. Like when they’re sitting around the campfire at night, their hips and knees brushing lightly against one another; not pressing, just touching; a reminder that the other is still there. Or in the way Bucky visibly goes lax and pliant whenever Steve puts a friendly hand on his shoulder, and the way his smile suddenly appears to reach his eyes when it hadn’t just moments before. 

It's a strange thing for someone who claims not liking to be touched to be doing, but Steve decides to simply go with it without asking any unnecessary questions. So what if Bucky’s being a bit more touchy-feely than normal? The guy’s been a prisoner of war, for crying out loud. And not just any prisoner, either. Hydra had wanted him for something special, why else would they have separated him from the other soldiers? Steve doesn’t know if the room he’d found Bucky in had been used simply for questioning, but… given they way Bucky had been raving under his breath when Steve got to him, the word ‘torture’ sure doesn’t seem far-fetched… 

As he recalls the way Bucky had tensed up that first time Steve had put his hands on him – from just a simple touch to the shoulder – Steve decides that if they ever manage to find that Zola guy, Steve and he are going to have a long nice chat about what happened to Bucky in that room… 

Steve’s not even sure if the other Howlies have noticed it; they don’t know Bucky the way Steve does. He’s not sure they see how tired Bucky looks nowadays. Behind the smiles and the jokes, Bucky constantly seems to be balancing on the verge of exhaustion. And yet, he’s always the last of them to fall asleep at night, and the first to wake in the morning. More often than not when Steve emerges from his tent at dawn, Bucky’s already standing at the edge of their camp, looking out into the surrounding woods as if he’s expecting something to emerge from within the depths. For some reason, the sight never fails to send haunting chills down Steve’s spine.

When asked if he’s alright, Bucky’s predictable reply varies between a simple huff, or a dismissive comment about still being a bit out of shape. “I’ll be fine,” he says. But time passes. And Bucky doesn’t get any better.

Steve silently wonders how many weeks it’ll take Bucky to recover from whatever had happened in the Hydra base – if he’ll ever be able to. However, as Steve pushes the canvas of his tent aside to face yet another morning crowned by the rigid square of Bucky’s shoulders, he figures it’s best not to ask.

And so the weeks go by, and somehow Steve slowly comes to terms with the sudden turn his life has made. Together, the Howlies take down one Hydra base after another, gathering intel, freeing prisoners, while simultaneously taking a few of their own. 

Throughout it all, Bucky is the perfect soldier. He’s efficient, focused, and steady as a rock in every situation they find themselves in. He never misses a target, never lets his guard down, and Steve knows that as long as Bucky’s on his six, he doesn’t have to worry about anyone getting the drop on him.

And through it all, Bucky still doesn’t sleep.

 

/\/\/\

 

When the breakthrough finally comes, it does so with a bang that Steve certainly had not been expecting.  

It’s on a mission; just like any other. The Howling Commandos are set to take out a supply column headed for a presumed Hydra base near the western border between France and Italy, cutting off additional food and ammunition to ease the future attack on the base itself.

It all goes according to plan; Dernier’s rigged explosives take out the tanks up front and in the rear of the column, causing commotion and panic amongst the enemy troops. Having the higher ground, the Howlies quickly execute the rest of their strategy, and with Bucky’s sniper rifle supporting them from afar, it doesn’t take long before the mission is an unsurprising success. 

The survivors that remain are gathered up, disarmed, and put under a watchful eye while the Howlies await the supporting troops to come and clean up the mess before the enemy notices that their supplies has been cut off. 

Steve looks up just in time to catch sight of Bucky as he comes trudging onto the road from the woods, and Steve’s already raised his hand in greeting when he spots the red smear that’s covering Bucky’s left sleeve.

“It’s not mine,” Bucky grunts, even as Steve opens his mouth to draw breath. “Some damn scout tried to sneak up on me.”

“I take it he regretted that?” Steve asks.

“Indeed he did,” Bucky replies. There’s no cheer in his voice, however, but as Steve frowns, Bucky turns away, slinging his rifle onto his back without another word. Steve lets the subject drop – at least for the time being.

They don’t have to wait for reinforcements for long, and before the sun has even begun to set, they’re all getting ready to head back to base in order to get some well deserved rest for the first time in what feels like ages.

At the camp, they get washed up, get a new change of clothes along with some warm food in their bellies, and then it’s time for bed. They’re supposed to be up early to head back to London for debriefing, followed by a few days’ leave before they return to the front with new orders. It’s all standard procedure, nothing strange about it, and yet, throughout the entire journey back, Steve just can’t shake the feeling that something’s not right.

Bucky is quiet, more so than usual. He doesn’t engage in conversation with anyone, and when asked questions, his answers are all single-syllabled at best. Back at camp, Steve also notes that Bucky barely touches his food, and so, when Bucky gets up to leave the table without a word, Steve follows.

He knows that Bucky’s aware of his presence, but either way, Bucky’s still doing a pretty good job ignoring him. Steve follows him all the way to the edge of the camp, much further away than is necessary in order to have some privacy for a talk about mundane topics like girls or home. Something’s up, and Steve doesn’t exactly have to use his strategic experience to see that whatever it is, Bucky doesn’t want anyone else accidentally overhearing them. 

When Bucky finally stops, Steve doesn’t hesitate. He casually comes to a halt by Bucky’s side to look out over the trees blocking the horizon.

“So?” he says simply. “You ready to tell me what this is all about?”

“You say that as if I owe you an explanation,” Bucky replies dryly. Then he sighs, his shoulders slumping. “I wish I could say you were wrong.”

Steve stays quiet, knowing that Bucky is trying to figure out the best way to puzzle his words together, and Steve patiently waits. They’ve been through enough talks like this in the past for both of them to know when to keep their mouths shut and let the other talk, rather than trying to push for answers.

“I slit a man’s throat today.”

Steve takes a moment, lets the words sink in and take hold, analyzing exactly what they mean. There are standard phrases he could chose to say, of course. Lenient words and reasoning designed to lessen the guilt and trauma. To say any of them to Bucky feels insulting.

“This isn’t about you killing a man,” Steve says instead. He turns his head to give Bucky a long, steady look, and once again, Bucky sighs.

“No, it’s not,” he agrees bitterly. He looks down, and even in the dim light of the new moon above, Steve can see the way Bucky’s jaw clenches over and over, as if the words inside his mouth are too big to fit. Too tough to get out without breaking them down into little pieces first.

“I liked it,” Bucky eventually manages, and the words float through the air in a hoarse whisper that leaves unpleasant goosebumps rising on the back of Steve’s neck.

He shakes them off, composing himself.

“Because he was Hydra?” he asks.

“No,” Bucky answers thickly. Steve watches him lick his lips and then pinch them hard together. “I don’t— I liked it… But I didn’t  _ like  _ liking it. You know?”

This time, it’s Steve turn to sigh, and he turns fully towards Bucky, meeting his gaze when Bucky looks up.

“Bucky,” he says softly. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky breathes back, and just then it strikes Steve that Bucky is scared. Looking at him like this, taking in those wide, glassy eyes, and the tightly pinched lips, Steve realizes that Bucky is absolutely  _ terrified. _

Apparently, Bucky realizes that Steve’s figured it out as well, because suddenly he lets out a low whine and turns away, fisting his hands by his sides.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me, Steve,” he confesses through what sounds like gritted teeth. “I’m just— Goddamit, I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

“Alright, calm down,” Steve orders softly. “Start from the top, tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s _ me, _ okay?” Bucky snaps, turning back to face him. “ _ I’m _ what’s wrong!” He reaches for his chest, pulling at the front of his shirt and looking down as if he’s expecting to see some kind of vicious stain on the fabric. “I’m  _ hollow. _ Alright? I don’t  _ feel _ stuff anymore!”

Letting go of his shirt, he drags his hands up through his hair, fisting it at the back and groaning loudly. “It’s been the same way ever since Austria,” he grates out, his voice nearly breaking. “I’ve tried not to think about it. Figured it would pass, but it doesn’t. It’s like— like those bastards cut out a piece of me and left nothing but empty space behind.”

“When you say you feel nothing…?” Steve asks carefully.

“I mean nothing,” Bucky says gravely. “Happy, sad, relieved… it’s all grey. I can’t even feel anger, can you imagine that? Picking off those fuckers out there, it’s like it doesn’t even matter. I put bullet after bullet through the brains of every Hydra agent I can track down, and it’s like I’m shooting at paper targets.” 

Silent, Steve looks on as Bucky moves his hand to form a gun with his fingers as he speaks, and mimes pulling the trigger against his own temple. “No matter how hard I try to think about what Hydra did to me – whatever the hell it was – I still can’t bring myself to hate them. But today…” Slowly, Bucky lets his hand drop, palm up as he looks at it, and for a moment his eyes glaze over, lost in memory. “Today… it felt good. Feeling that guy struggle as I slid the blade across his neck… The warmth of his blood on my skin…”

He swallows hard, and Steve watches with a tight clench to his heart how the glaze in Bucky’s eye slowly trickles down his left cheek, gleaming starlight in the dark. 

“For the first time in weeks, I finally felt something,” Bucky murmurs. “And now I can’t stop wishing I’d never felt anything at all.”

“Is that why you can’t sleep?” Steve asks.

“Oh, I can sleep,” Bucky replies, glancing up from his hand to look Steve straight in the eye. “But I don’t want to.”

Steve frowns. Then, the penny drops, and he straightens up with a deep intake of breath. “Nightmares,” he concludes, and Bucky nods.

“They’re getting worse,” he says. 

“Are they…” Steve trails off, searching for the words. “Are they about what they did to you? Like… memories?”

“Don’t know,” Bucky says, shrugging. “Probably. Mixed with everything I feared they’d do. What I feared they’d make  _ me  _ do.” Wincing, he turns his face to the sky, closing his eyes. “I don’t want this, Steve,” he whispers. “Everytime I take a life out there I feel like I’m slowly losing grip of myself. Whatever thing this is that I’m turning into—”

“Listen to me,” Steve says, cutting Bucky off by putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it tight. “You’re not turning into anything. Alright? You went through stuff that would have gotten most fellas begging for home already, but you’re still here.”

“Am I, though?” Bucky asks desolately, and Steve answers by squeezing his shoulder again.

“Yes, you are,” he says. “And I’m gonna help you get through this, Buck, I promise.” He takes a step back, looking Bucky up and down. “And the first thing we’re gonna do, is make sure you get some proper sleep. I think the nurse might have something to—”

“No drugs,” Bucky says sharply, and Steve cuts himself off. There’s a hint of steel in Bucky’s eyes, but it’s the gleam of a blade raised in fear, not resolve, and Steve nods.

“Okay,” he agrees. “No drugs. But I’ve gotta be honest with you, pal, I don’t really know of any other way to make you relax enough to sleep.”

Bucky’s gaze drops with a flicker to the left, and Steve narrows his eyes.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Bucky replies, just a little bit too fast.

“Oh, no, don’t you even try pull that one on me,” Steve argues. “I know that look, so spill it.”

Bucky sighs heavily, letting Steve know that he’s won even before he opens his mouth.

“Alright, just… Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, okay?” Bucky grumbles. “But… There’s one thing that… might work.”

“And what’s that?” Steve prompts.

Once again, Bucky sighs, rolling his eyes to the sky as if he can’t believe Steve’s actually making him say it out loud.

“You remember when we were kids?” he asks. “And we slept on the floor in my parent’s living room?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, because how can he not remember that? He’s actually convinced that he’d spent more of his childhood nights on the cushions of the Barnes family’s living room couch than he has in his own bed.

“Well…” Bucky continues, “do you remember that time we spent the entire night telling each other all those ghost stories, and… you know… I ended up scaring myself so bad I couldn’t sleep?”

“I do,” Steve admits. He’s not even ashamed of the fact that he smiles when he says it. “I held your hand,” he says, already suspecting where it is Bucky’s going with this story. “And when I woke up, you were sprawled out with your head on my chest, drooling all over my shoulder. And crushing me half to death, I might add.”

“Yeah…” Bucky mumbles, and Steve nods. But then he frowns.

“It won't be as easy this time around, though,” he cautions. “We're not kids anymore, and should someone go running their mouth about two grown men holding hands in their sleep…”

“You don't think I know that?” Bucky mutters testily. “Not that anything would happen to you; the Army’s got your back. You're their precious golden boy, after all. Me on the other hand…”

“If anyone as much as lays a finger on you—” Steve starts grimly.

“You can't guard me all the time,” Bucky argues, and then adds, dejectedly, “Besides, I've got a feeling I can take care of myself.”

They fall silent. The air around them is colder now, and while they’ve been talking, the sky has grown darker in the east.

Nightfall won't be long.

“When we get back from London then,” Steve decides. “The other guys will understand, should we have to tell them. But it's too risky here with so many people around.”

“Yeah… Wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea about things, now would we?” Bucky attempts a smile, but it doesn't come out half as cheerful as Steve would have liked it to as Bucky adds, “Don't worry, I've gotten by just fine so far. Another week won't hurt me.”

After a moment of silent contemplation, Steve makes a highly conscious decision not to answer him.

 

/\/\/\

 

They get to London. The debriefing at headquarters are quick and efficient, as always. After all, it’s been awhile since they did anything  _ too _ reckless while in the field, so the big shots don’t have anything to reprimand them for this time around.

They spend their leave in the city, trying to enjoy as many luxuries they can while not thinking about how they'll all be just a memory in a few days’ time. Bucky spends most of his alone time writing letters to his family. Steve asks him to say hello from him too, and Bucky assures him he’s already done that.

Steve doesn’t ask whether or not Bucky’s tried sleeping yet, and Bucky doesn’t bring it up.

In a way, it’s almost a relief when the time comes to return to the front. To Steve, slipping into his combat uniform feels like greeting an old friend; familiar, where his service uniform had been nothing but a stranger. He can see the same sentiment reflected in the posture of all the men in their assorted little group. For all of them, being idle is the worst part of this war; knowing there’s still work to be done, but not being present to do it. 

It’s almost funny that some muddy backroad in southern Europe has begun to feel more like ‘home’ to Steve than Brooklyn ever did. The thought hits him however, that  if Bucky hadn’t been there with him, it would have been different. Bucky’s always been close, after all, through thick and thin, for better or worse. The sentiment is enough to make Steve smile to himself. Dum Dum was the first of the team to jokingly refer to Steve and Bucky as ‘an old married couple’, and Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t see the truth of that statement. They sure know how to push each other’s buttons well enough… Or read each other in general, for that matter.

As of now, Bucky is keeping his distance from Steve, and Steve is willing to bet his shield that it’s because the guy’s nervous. Steve gets it. It’s not as if Steve hasn’t given their pending situation any thought lately either… 

The mission they’re currently on is recon. They’re not expecting to run into any enemy troops, but discretion and caution is as always advised. However, what differs from a normal search-and-destroy mission is that they’re planning to stay out there for a longer amount of time. 

It had been the perfect excuse, really. Long-term missions require tents, and their old ones – even if perfectly capable – had begun to look a bit shabby. And if Captain America’s only request for his team is a new set of slightly larger pup tents, then who are the military to say no? Although, he has to admit, Peggy helped him pull some strings with that one. 

None of the Howlies had questioned it when Steve had announced that they’d be sharing tents from now on. And if if anyone had found it strange that Captain America chose to bunk with his best friend, well, no one had cared enough to say anything about it.

And even though Steve knows that there’s absolutely no reason for anyone to think it’s weird that Steve had suddenly switched their regular, smaller, individual tents into these newer, larger things, Steve can’t help but feel anxious about the whole situation.

He doesn’t even know why. It’s not as if sharing tents is unusual; as a matter of fact, it’s more-or-less standard. And it’s not as if Steve’s never shared sleeping quarters with Bucky before. Or a bed for that matter, even if that’s… Well, Steve’s not really sure what that incident had been.

What he _knows_ it had been, was a particularly cold winter back in 1939. They’d never really talked about it afterwards. Not really. ‘That time the radiator went out’ is the phrase they normally use to address it, when and if it’s ever brought up. As something that had just happened. Something that wasn’t all that important. 

To this day, Steve’s pretty sure that it had been a lot more important than either of them had wanted to let on at the time, for different reasons. 

For Steve’s part, he’s always known that he’s been drawn more to men than women. Not that women are bad in any way, it’s just that men… Men have simply been more  _ alluring. _ And Bucky’s always been the flirtatious type. Never knowing when to quit.

That’s what had happened that time. A joke gone too far. A careless comment that had turned into a challenge, and then into something much more significant and world-altering than a dare gone wrong. 

Steve can still remember all of it with blinding clarity; Bucky’s breath beating hard over the exposed column of Steve’s throat, and his hands in a firm grip around Steve’s hip while Steve clung to Bucky’s shoulder for what felt like dear life. Sweat beading on his brow, the lingering taste of Bucky’s lips still fresh on Steve’s own… 

He’d be lying if he said he hadn't been hurt the morning after when he had realized that Bucky was going to pretend as if what they’d done hadn’t actually happened. The slow climb to get back to where their friendship had been before had taken its time, but they had gotten there, eventually. Once they had, Steve could again bring himself to watch Bucky flirt with the girls of Brooklyn without feeling as if he were slowly dying on the inside.  

The thought of spending the night even remotely close to Bucky again, even in these circumstances they’d agreed on… is doing things to Steve’s nerves in ways he thought he’d gotten over a long, long time ago.

To make matters worse, he doesn't even get the time he’d planned to ease them into the situation either. According to their mission plan, they were supposed to have been dropped off at the Italian border at noon, but their flight had been delayed. By the time they’d made it to their drop off point, the sky had already begun to turn a dark blue above their heads, and several hours later as they reach their first camp site, it's pitch black outside.

Setting up the tents provokes a fair share of cursing in several languages, but they manage, miraculously. They settle for cold rations rather than making a fire, and not long after having finished dinner, one by one, they head off to bed.

Jones and Morita take first watch, and Steve spends at least fifteen minutes providing them with instructions and words of encouragement before he realizes that he's stalling. 

It’s not that he’s nervous. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. 

Well, so… maybe he’s a little nervous. Maybe.

Not so much about sharing sleeping arrangements with Bucky, because to be fair, he’s done that several times before. And it’s not about the two of them holding hands either. In a way, he supposes that it’s not so much about what they’ll be doing, as much as it will be about what it  _ means _ .

Bucky came to him. Or… Steve followed him, to be truthful, but… Bucky still chose to confide in him rather than try to get by on his own. He put his trust in Steve, and for some reason that has Steve nearly shaking out of his skin with nerves. 

He doesn’t want to screw this up. And by screwing up, he means everything that could possibly go wrong with this situation, from Bucky’s nightmares actually getting worse to the two of them… Yeah, he doesn’t really want to think about any bad scenarios involving the two of them.

Nevertheless, he can’t stay out here forever, and even though he tries his best to steel himself for it, he still feels like a shaking mess on the inside as he sets his course towards their tent.

As he enters, Bucky's already lying on his cot. There's not much space inside, and just like the other pup tents, the proximity to the canopy of the ceiling makes Steve feel like he's back lying inside the rebirth pod in Erskine’s lab. 

Steve gets under the covers of his cot and reaches for the lantern hanging from the ceiling.

“Lights out?” he asks.

“Yeah, sure.”

Steve nods, and in the blink of an eye, the tent is thrown into darkness.

“So…” Steve murmurs. “You think you'll be okay with this?” 

“Hopefully,” Bucky whispers back. “I mean… it's worth a shot, right?”

“Yeah. I mean, anything you think will help you relax.”

Bucky barks out a laugh. It's short and nervous, and Steve gets the feeling that Bucky's not even smiling as he does it.

“I'm not so sure anything can help me relax at this point.”

“The nightmares are really that bad?

“Worse,” comes the dull reply from within the darkness. “Like… It's like I'm living it all over again. But this time they're actually inside my head, using my own thoughts against me. It's terrifying.”

“I'm sorry.” Steve can't come up with anything better to say, and the words sound hollow to his own ears when they leave his lips.

“Don't be,” Bucky murmurs. “If it hadn't been for you, I'd still be there.”

“Well, I had to go after you,” Steve tries jokingly, “It's not as if I could send a stripe-happy twit like you off to war by himself, could I?”

“No,” Bucky answers, just as low as before. “I guess you couldn't.”

In the dark, Steve hears Bucky shift on his cot, and then Steve’s heart gives a startled jump inside his chest when he feels the light touch of fingers ghost against his forearm from across the narrow gap between them. Nonchalantly, Steve moves closer, giving his silent approval, and he forces himself to keep his breathing under control when Bucky slips his hand all the way down to grip around Steve’s own. Just like that, Steve’s suddenly immensely concerned with whether or not his new body is capable of developing sweaty hands. 

“This feels queer,” Bucky suddenly grumbles, and Steve snorts out a laugh, swallowing hard.

“I guess you can pick one,” he suggests. “Queer. Or childlish.”

“How generous,” Bucky mutters under his breath. But then he tightens his grip on Steve’s hand, sighing. “Fuck it. Queer it is then, I guess.”

Steve’s not entirely sure what to think about that statement, but he decides that it doesn’t really matter what he thinks. Bucky needs this, and as nerve wracking it is for Steve to lie there in the dark holding Bucky’s hand,  _ his  _ emotions have absolutely nothing to do with their current situation.

He wills himself to relax, one limb at a time, but it’s difficult. Every five minutes, Bucky shifts, turning from one side to the other on the narrow cot, and it startles Steve out of relaxation every single time.

“You know,” he murmurs drowsily, “if you don’t stop tossing around like that, I’mma have to tie you down.” 

“It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose,” Bucky argues as he wiggles around to lie on his back yet again. “Maybe if we had an  _ actual  _ bed…” 

“Of course,” Steve replies. “Remind me for our next tour to bring you a featherbed.”

“Don’t be a fucking pill,” Bucky says with a huff, and Steve smiles as the sentence is followed up by a familiar kick to Steve’s leg from across the two cots. “I’m just sayin’ it ain’t my fault.”

“I know,” Steve answers. Then he adds, “And I don’t  _ really  _ mind it. I mean, not that much, at least.”

“Just spill it,” Bucky says. “You’re keeping yourself awake to make sure I actually fall asleep, aren’t ya?”

“Maybe,” Steve confesses. “But also because you make it impossible to sleep.”

“Well, tough luck,” Bucky mutters, but Steve can hear the guilt in his voice as clearly as he can feel the fingers grasping around his in the dark. On reflex, Steve gives Bucky’s hand a squeeze, shaking it a little in reassurance.

“Hey. Knock it off. You know I’m doing this because I want to help.”

“I know,” Bucky replies. “You’ve always been too kind for your own good…”

“Yeah, well, guess who I learned it from,” Steve retorts, and this time, it’s Bucky who squeezes Steve’s hand in return.

They fall silent. The night outside the tent is quiet; not even a breeze rustling through the treetops surrounding their makeshift camp. Steve can hear the in and out of Bucky’s breathing clearly, and he wonders if his own breathing sounds strange in any way. If the tension inside his chest caused by Bucky’s touch, however innocent, can be heard as it strains against the air filling up his lungs.

He’s not sure when it happens, exactly, but somewhere between worrying about his own lung capacity and Bucky’s hand, Steve actually manages to fall asleep. There’s no telling for how long he’s out, but when he wakes up, it’s still pitch black inside the tent, and Bucky is in the process of crushing every single bone in Steve’s hand from how hard he’s clutching it. 

Bucky’s breathing is laboured now, and his body is jerking with the whimpers that pushes out through what Steve suspects are clenched teeth.

“Bucky,” Steve whispers, suddenly wide awake as he reaches out blindly to lightly shake Bucky by the shoulder. “Buck, you’re dreaming. Wake up.”

He can pinpoint the moment when Bucky wakes up, because suddenly, Bucky goes dead quiet. As if he’s keeled over right then and there. Then, there’s a deep intake of breath, followed by a shaky exhale.

“Steve?” Bucky asks meekly.

“I’m right here,” Steve promises. “You’re all good, pal.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“Don’t worry about it. It was just a dream. It wasn’t real”

“Felt pretty damn real to me.”

“It wasn’t,” Steve insists. “Just your noggin’ playing tricks on you.”

“Yeah…” 

In spite of the sincerity of the moment, Steve yawns, his body relaxing now that Bucky’s all right.

“Try to get some more sleep,” he urges. “We’ve still got a few hours before we need to head out. I’ll be here the whole time, I promise.”

Bucky sighs; a dejected, crestfallen sound, but he doesn’t put up a fight about it, and he doesn’t let go of Steve’s hand.

It doesn't take much time before the silence lulls Steve back to sleep, and the next time he opens his eyes, the faint light growing outside has begun to shine in through the seams of their tent. As Steve turns his head to the left, he almost expects to find Bucky’s cot to be empty, but instead he finds Bucky, with his mouth open in a silent snore, fast asleep by his side. 

The image sends a jolt of pure affection through Steve’s chest, which in turn has him grinning openly at his best friend and the childlike innocence his sleeping form portrays. He’s still considering whether or not he should wake Bucky up now, or wait until it’s time to leave, just to give him a few more hours of sleep, when Bucky suddenly shifts, and blinks himself awake. Drowsy eyes lock onto Steve’s face, and Bucky closes his mouth, then opens it again in a yawn as he stretches slowly.

“Morn’,” he groans under his breath, still with his back arched off the bed.

“Morning,” Steve echoes. He watches, still smiling, how Bucky gives a few more blinks, and then frowns up at the tent.

“I fell asleep,” he says, as if he’s not sure exactly what to think about it.

“You sure did,” Steve confirms with a chuckle. “How’s it feel, waking up without your heart in your throat?”

“Unusual,” Bucky decides. “But I think I could get used to it.”

Steve laughs, and makes a move to get off his cot and move towards the opening of the tent – really, they should probably have gotten moving ages ago – but he doesn’t get far before he feels Bucky’s hand reach out and close around his elbow.

“Steve.”

Steve turns his head to look over his shoulder, meeting Bucky’s gaze. Bucky’s got his lower lip caught between his teeth, and even in the dim inside the tent, Steve can see that he’s working himself up to say something.

“It’s alright,” Steve tries, already suspecting what it is his friend wants to tell him, but Bucky just shakes his head.

“No, I—” He makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them again. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I really mean it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve replies. 

“No, but you didn’t have to do that,” Bucky argues. “I mean, with the tents, and the… you know,” he ends lamely, and Steve nods.

“Well,” he says slowly. “As long I’m able to help you feel better.”

“You are,” Bucky assures him, looking him in the eye this time. “Really.”

Steve smiles, and without really caring whether or not he should or shouldn’t, he twists himself around on the cot and yanks Bucky into a tight, bone-crushing hug. The angle is skewed, and their position is a bit cramped and awkward. It’s not really what Steve had planned, especially not when he feels Bucky freeze up as Steve wraps his arms around his body.

It only lasts for a second, however, and then Bucky’s hugging him back; tight and heartily.

It’s been a long time since they’ve hugged each other like that. Not even on the night Bucky shipped out. It makes Steve’s heart beat faster, and he’s suddenly hyper-aware of exactly where Bucky’s hands are on his body, of the steady rise and fall of Bucky’s back beneath the weight of his palms, and of the way Bucky’s breath rushes in to heat up the side of his neck when Bucky breathes out a heavy sigh against Steve’s shoulder.

They stay like that for as long as Steve’s already-rattling nerves can handle it, and then Steve begins to gradually pull back. Bucky lets him, but Steve can feel Bucky’s fingers linger softly to drag down the back of his shoulders and further down his arm as the hug ends. As if he’d rather not let Steve go… 

 

/\/\/\

 

The following nights adhere to the same pattern. Bucky falls asleep holding Steve’s hand cradled in a barely-there grip, and Steve gets to wake up from having Bucky cutting off the circulation to his fingers less than halfway through the night. At first, Steve has to shake Bucky awake from the nightmares to get him calm, but after a few nights, all Steve has to do is put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and softly talk him through it to make it end.

The results are apparent. Bucky looks healthier, acts happier, performs better… He’s calmer out in the field, and his aim is steadier than it’s ever been. The success of sharing tents is ridiculously clear, and yet, Steve can’t help but feel guilty.

Of course, he’s glad that Bucky’s getting better – that had been the whole point about this from the start, after all. However, there are more… delicate side effects of sharing a tent with a person you once… cared for. There may be no broken radiator around for them to blame this time, but the thought of it is nevertheless persistently hovering in the outskirts of Steve’s mind. 

Bucky needs Steve’s proximity in order to sleep; they’ve been over that several times now. He requires Steve’s touch, his voice, to keep the night terrors away, and no matter how much Steve would like to say that it’s all because of how Steve’s the one who saved Bucky from Hydra, and that Bucky therefore associates him with safety, he can’t help but think – maybe even hope? – that there might be more to it.

It’s dumb. Steve knows that. It’s dumb, silly, naive, and pointless. Steve’s told himself all of those things too many times to count these past weeks, but that doesn’t stop his pulse from going berserk whenever Bucky looks his way, or talks to him, or touches him… And it sure doesn’t stop his stomach from filling up with butterflies every night when Bucky’s hand reaches out for his through the dark, or his head from filling up with the thoughts that single, innocent touch conjures up.

It makes Steve feel like a douchebag, Like he’s taking advantage of Bucky’s vulnerability in order to be close to him. To touch him. That cold winter night suddenly feels like it happened mere days ago, not years, and whenever Bucky shifts his body on the cot next to him, Steve’s imagination takes off like a bullet from the barrel of a gun.  

His head fills up with a thousand “What if”s, and a million “Maybe”s. What would happen if Bucky’s hand suddenly reached further, past Steve’s hand. If Bucky suddenly sat up and leaned over the short distance between their beds, coming close enough for Steve to feel his breath against his skin… Bucky’s lips on his lips… 

They’re bad thoughts. Very, very,  _ very  _ bad thoughts, for several reasons.

And still, Steve can’t bring himself to stop thinking them.

Everyday, Bucky approaches him in silence – standing close, sitting close, moving  _ close _ – and Steve obliges. A hand on a shoulder, the reassuring bump of an elbow, a lingering touch to the back… It’s innocent as can possibly be, and Steve feels all kinds of sinful for doing them. He shouldn’t. Bucky doesn’t think of it the same way Steve does, he just needs to feel  _ safe. _ And Steve wants to be that safe place –  _ god, _ does he want to be – but there’s a difference between being supportive because you want to help, and because you’re hoping to get something out of it. Steve would never dream of using Bucky like that. To give him help and then demand something in return, no, that would be barbaric. 

So why does he feel like that’s exactly what he’s doing?

It would be one thing if Bucky actually showed any signs that the nights together affected him as well, but Steve can’t tell if that’s the case, which most likely means that he’s not. Sure, Bucky’s as fond of Steve as ever, but his flirtatious mannerism hasn’t changed one bit, and every time Steve comes across something that might be interpreted as a sign of interest, he has to firmly remind himself that Bucky’s most likely just yanking his chain. Because that’s what he does.

The other Howlies tease the two of them by pointing out how lovey-dovey they seem around each other nowadays, and after all why wouldn’t they? Steve faced down an entire Hydra base on his own to get Bucky out, and Bucky decided that in spite of his trauma to follow Steve into the jaws of death once again, just because it’s Steve. It’s simply too sappy for a bunch of fellas to ignore. 

And Steve has to admit that the two of them now constantly touching in one way or another, and also sharing a tent doesn’t exactly make things better… 

“So, what’s the deal?” Jones asks one night as they’re all huddled by the campfire, eating their dinner. “You two push the cots together at night, or do you alternate who gets to sleep on top?”

“I’m always on top,” Bucky shoots back, and he turns to gesture towards Steve with his spoon as he continues, “Have you seen the size of that guy? His bicep’s the size of my head; he’d crush me in an instant!”

“It’s funny how you say that like you’re some kind of paperweight,” Steve quips back without looking up from his food, disguising the heat on his cheeks with a look of nonchalant indifference. Dugan immediately gives a bellowing laugh and he slaps his hand over Bucky’s back so hard the force of it nearly sends Bucky falling off the tree stump he’s seated on.

“He’s got a point, Barnes,” Morita chips in. “Steve’s gotta stop sharing his D rations with you, or you’re gonna pop the buttons on that jacket of yours.”

“My jacket’s fine,” Bucky mutters, visibly not pleased with how the focus has shifted from his and Steve’s feigned relationship to his weight. “If anything it’s getting tighter across the shoulders, not the middle.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Buck,” Steve murmurs, just loud enough for it to be heard by everyone around the fire.

“Shut your cakehole, Rogers,” Bucky grumbles, then he sets his mess tin down on the ground as he stands up with a warning finger pointed towards the rest of the group. “I’mma take a piss. You crumbs can sit here talking about how fat I’m gettin’ on your own.”

“Sure you don’t want the Cap to go with you?” Dernier asks teasingly, “Give the two of you some more alone time?” Steve’s not sure if it’s the French accent that does it, but somehow the way he says it makes the words sound far more suggestive than what they normally would have.

“I think I’ll manage this once,” Bucky says over his shoulder, already heading into the dark, and Steve barely resists the urge to bury his entire head in his own mess tin to hide the furious blush on his face. He keeps his gaze down, expecting the conversation to pick up again on another topic, but instead, the men remain suspiciously quiet. Curious, Steve slowly looks up, only to find that everyone has their eyes intently fixed on him.

“So?” Falsworth says, and Steve’s stomach tightens uncomfortably.

“So, what?” he replies, as flatly as he can manage, cringing on the inside when the others share skeptical looks across the fire.

“How’s he doing?” Dum Dum clarifies, and Steve relaxes slightly.

“Better,” he reports. “The nightmares are still there, but at least he’s able to go back to sleep nowadays.”

“And you?” Pinkteron prompts.

“Me?” Steve echoes, dumbfounded.

“When he has nightmares, what do  _ you  _ do?”

“I—” Steve clears his throat, shrugging. “I talk to him, mostly. Sometimes I shake him awake when it looks like it’s getting too bad, but… mostly, I just talk.”

“And that works?” Morita asks, sounding both impressed and skeptic all at once.

“So far, yeah.”

Once again, Steve watches the others share knowing glances, and he lets out an annoyed huff, sitting up taller.

_ “What?” _ he demands again. There’s a moment of silence.

“The two of you are pretty close, huh?” Dernier asks.

“He’s my best friend,” Steve answers simply, keeping his tone deliberately oblivious.

“No offense, but we sort of figured that,” Jones says with a laugh. 

“Then why ask?”

“We’re just concerned.”

“About what?” Steve frowns, and when no one meets his eye as he looks around the group, his voice hardens. “What exactly are you asking me?”

“Listen here, Steven,” Dum Dum says, deliberately using Steve’s first name as he leans in with his elbows braced on his knees. “Barnes is on our team, and if there’s something going on with him, we need to know about it.”

“Thing is, he won’t tell  _ us, _ ” Pinkerton carries on. “He jokes it away, or simply pretends he didn’t hear us ask. And we all figured since he seems to have a… weak spot for you, perhaps he’s told you something?”

“Something like what?” Steve asks warily.

“Like what happened to him back at the facility,” Dum Dum says wryly, and Steve snaps his mouth shut, jaw clenching.

“If he hasn’t told you already,” he says firmly, “then I’m not at liberty to do so either.”

“We’re not asking for details,” Morita promises. “We just want to know if there’s anything we can do to help.”

“Listen, what they did to him—”

“Was most likely even more horrific than any of us can imagine,” Dum Dum ends. “We’re aware. Jesus Christ, the guy’s been a complete wreck ever since he got out. Jumpy and on edge. Flinches whenever someone happens to get too close, or– god forbid – actually  _ touches _ him. That’s why we want to make sure he’s actually okay, since he's obviously putting on a show for us for the sake of his own pride.”

“It's not pride,” Steve says. “Had it been that, he would never have come to me for help.”

“So you know what it’s about?” Pinkerton asks, but when Steve doesn’t answer, the expression on Dum Dum’s face softens somewhat.

“Figures…” he says, sighing. “Guess he hasn’t told you either then, huh?”

“Not yet,” Steve admits.

“You think he ever will?” Jones asks.

“I don’t know,” Steve says sadly. “I hope he will, but… there’s no telling at this point. And trying to push him into talking about it now might make things worse. He’s got enough pressure on him as it is.” 

Dum Dum nods, and then sighs heavily.

“Well,” he says. “Just… keep us posted, will you? If there’s anything we can do, let us know.”

“You have your own worries,” Steve objects. “You shouldn’t have to think about this as well.”

“Tough luck,” Jones declares. “Guess you should’ve thought about that before you decided to bring us with you.”

“Well said,” Falsworth agrees, gathering up his own mess tin and standing up, turning towards Steve. “Besides, if he ever decides to spill the beans about that whole thing, then you’re most likely the person he’ll spill them too.”

“What makes you say that?” Steve asks, frowning again.

“Oh,” Falsworth replies, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s just call it a hunch for now.”

 

/\/\/\

 

Steve opens his eyes, wide awake in less than two heartbeats. It’s raining outside, and the downpour is beating against the canvas of their tent in loud, heavy droplets. The old tents would have been leaking like sieves at this point, and Steve takes a second to thank his lucky stars that he’d managed to convince HQ to give them new ones for this trip. Then, he turns his focus to what woke him in the first place, his enhanced vision making it easy to peer through the dark.

Bucky is crying.

There are wet streaks running down his face where he’s lying on his side, curled into a ball on his cot with his knees pulled up against his chest. He’s got his one hand fisted in the front of his jersey and the other in his hair, as if he’s trying to ground himself, and with every other sob that blubbers past his lips, his entire body jerks hard enough to make the cot creak beneath his weight.

Silently, Steve reaches out and gently puts his hand on the curve of Bucky’s shoulder, but instead of settling down like he usually does, Bucky gives a muffled cry into the sleeve of his shirt and jerks away in his sleep as if the touch had burned him. The sight is heartbreaking. 

Steve pushes himself up on one elbow. “Bucky,” he whispers. “Bucky, wake up.”

Bucky’s shoulders shake with yet another sob, and a low whine rises out of his throat that cuts into Steve’s soul like a blade. 

“Bucky,” he tries again as he makes another attempt to shake his friend awake, “Bucky, it’s just a dream. You’re dreaming, Buck, c’mon.”

“No…” Bucky whimpers. “No, no, please….”

“Bucky, it’s  _ me. _ ”

“Please don’t.”

_ “Bucky.” _

Steve gives Bucky a harder shake, and with a vicious jolt, Bucky’s eyes fly open to stare blindly up at Steve through the darkness. His eyes are dark, blown wide with terror as they shimmer with unshed tears. The very sight of them makes Steve’s brain freeze up to the point that it takes him a good two seconds to realize that Bucky actually can’t _ see _ him. 

“It’s just me,” he says again, squeezing Bucky’s shoulder for good measure, before adding, “You’re safe, buddy.”

The seconds tick by, and then, finally, Bucky’s face softens as the fear in it slowly gives way to relief, followed by an expression Steve doesn’t get time to decipher before Bucky throws himself forward and clings to Steve’s shoulders with a choked cry. His entire body trembles as he buries his face against Steve’s chest, and as the sobs begin to tear through Bucky’s body, Steve can feel the warmth of the tears when they begin to seep through the fabric of his shirt.

Seconds later, there’s the sound of footsteps outside of their tent, and Steve feels Bucky’s grip tighten in his sleeves when Dugan’s voice comes floating in through the canvas.

“Cap? Everything’s alright in there?”

“It’s alright, Dum Dum,” Steve replies, loud enough to be heard through the tent, but not loud enough as to startle Bucky. “Just a nightmare.”

He’s barely finished the sentence when Bucky suddenly shoves himself away and out of Steve’s arms to half-claw, half-pull himself forward and over the edge of his bunk. Steve barely has enough time to move his feet out of the way before Bucky vomits on the ground between their cots with a guttural retching noise that makes Steve’s skin crawl.

“What the fuck—?”

The opening of the tent gets roughly pulled aside, and Steve looks up to see Dugan stare in at where Bucky gasps for breath, still with strings of saliva dripping from his mouth.

“We’re gonna need something to clean that up with,” Steve says pointedly. Dugan looks up, meeting Steve’s gaze, and then he nods in silence before closing the canvas behind him.

“I’m sorry…” 

Steve turns to Bucky, who’s pushing himself up into a sitting position and wiping at his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. Bucky’s voice is hoarse and brittle, and as he says his apology, he drags in a wet snivel through his nose.

“Hey,” Steve says gently, “don’t worry about it. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I feel like a big baby,” Bucky grumbles. 

“Don’t,” Steve objects. “Whatever you were dreaming about, I’m sure you wouldn’t go losing your lunch like that unless it was something really bad.”

Bucky snorts, or tries to. The noise comes out sounding like something in between a wheeze and a whimper. Steve politely looks away as Bucky’s hides his face in his palms as his lips begin to quiver.

“It was awful,” he mumbles into his hands. “For real, I can’t remember the last time I— When it was this bad.”

“You wanna talk about it?” Steve asks carefully, and Bucky sighs, tipping his head back against the canvas.

“I’m not sure I can,” he confesses. “Just thinking about it makes me feel sick all over again…”

Footsteps stopping outside the tent has Bucky tensing up. Steve quickly gets up to step over the puddle of sick on the ground as he goes to intercept Dugan before he can poke his head into the tent again. The last thing Bucky needs right now is an audience…

Using the shovel and bucket Dugan’s brought with him, Steve quickly rids the tent of vomit, and pours some fresh dirt on top of the remains to hide the lingering smell before before returning to his cot.

“I should have been the one cleaning that up,” Bucky points out as Steve sits back down, but Steve simply shrugs. 

“Doesn’t really matter who did it,” he decides. “It just had to be done.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replies. Gnawing on his lower lip, he looks at Steve then sighs deeply as he lies down on his back to stare up at the tent.

“You were there, you know,” he says, and Steve pauses in the middle of bringing his leg up on his bed, and slowly puts his foot back down. 

“I mean… Not  _ you, _ you,” Bucky clarifies with a gesture towards Steve’s body. “I mean the small you. From before.” 

Steve doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say either way, so he remains where he his, with his feet firmly planted on the ground between their cots and his body facing Bucky with his elbows resting on his knees.

“You were strapped to a table,” Bucky continues, his voice now low, as if talking too loud about it will make the nightmare come back even while he’s awake. “ _ The _ table… And I was there too, standing next to it.” He drags in a shaky breath, and Steve can see him curl his hands into fists by his side. “They made me do things to you,” he whispers. “Horrible things. I didn’t want to, but they made me do it anyway. And you were screaming… crying, begging me to stop… But I didn’t. I  _ hurt _ you, Steve.”

“No, you didn’t,” Steve cuts in. “I was sleeping next to you the whole time. It was just a dream. It didn’t actually happen.”

“In my head it did,” Bucky argues. “They feel so real, these nightmares, I— When you woke me up, for a moment, I thought I was back there again. That I had really done all those things to you, and that all this had been the real dream, and that I never made it out of there in the first place.”

“Well, you did,” Steve assures him. “I know, because I carried you out of that damn room myself. And then we watched it burn to the ground. Together, you and me.” He leans in and cants his head down to catch Bucky’s gaze. “You’re safe, Buck. Both of us are. I’m right here, and I’m not gonna let Hydra get to you ever again. You believe me, right?”

Bucky blinks, and then looks down as he swallows hard. “Yeah,” he breathes eventually. “I do.”

“Good,” Steve says, smiling fondly. “Because it’s the truth.” He hesitates, thinking if perhaps he should say something else, but then decides to let the silence do the talking for him as he finally lies down on his cot again. 

Outside, the night has gone quiet, and Steve can hear the sounds of the other men snoring in their respective tents. Especially Falsworth, whose snoring sounds like a flock of geese trying to honk out an improvised Christmas carol… 

“I dreamed about you alot while I was held captive,” Bucky suddenly says, and Steve has to restrain himself not to gasp. He glances at Bucky, but Bucky has gone from looking at him to looking at the tent again.

“Really?” Steve says, trying to sound calm, but curious enough to make Bucky continue talking. This is the closest Bucky has ever gotten to openly speaking about his time in Hydra’s base, and as much as Steve’s been curious, he’s always respected Bucky’s right to his privacy. This right here, however, is Bucky opening up, at long last, and if Steve accidentally ruins that by pushing the topic too fast, he’s going to hate himself forever.

Bucky doesn’t seem to notice anything, though. He’s still got his eyes fixed on the canvas roof.

“I dreamed about a lot of things,” he says in reply to Steve’s question. “About my ma… and Becca… Things from home that I hadn’t thought about in years.” He shifts, clearing his throat. “But most of the dreams were about you, and like, things we did back when we were kids.”

“What things?” Steve asks, smiling a little.

“You know,” Bucky says. “The sleepovers at my place. The time I tried to teach you how to ride a bicycle. And that time we snuck into the movies and almost got caught by the janitor.”

Steve lets out a low chuckle under his breath, “Yeah, that had been a close one,” he admits.

“Yeah….” There’s a moment of silence, and then Bucky speaks again, “Those dreams kept me going, though. Like, things during the day weren’t so bad, because I knew the nights would be easier. That there would be some sort of relief. At least… At least, at first.”

Steve doesn’t have to look at Bucky to know that he’s gone back to grabbing around the wooden edges of the cot again, and without even thinking about it, he reaches out and places his hand on Bucky’s arm. He immediately feels Bucky tense up, only to slowly relax a mere second later.

“After a while, the dreams suddenly changed. It was as if my brain couldn’t recall people’s faces anymore. Instead, everyone started to go all… blurry. And the things people said and did, it’s like they weren’t  _ them _ anymore. Like with you… It was like someone, or some _ thing,  _ was  _ posing  _ as you, and it scared the living hell out of me. You were so angry, and no matter what I said or did, I just couldn’t seem to calm you down. You just kept yelling at me; calling me a bully and a jerk. Laughing at me while Hydra strapped me to that table…”

Bucky’s voice breaks, and as Steve slowly moves his hand down until he finds Bucky’s wrist, Bucky immediately lets go of the cot and grabs around Steve’s fingers instead. 

“Just like that…” he murmurs, “the nights got even worse than the days.” 

Steve tightens his grip slightly, squeezing Bucky’s fingers as he swipes his thumb in a slow, comforting circle over the back of his hand. 

“They were just dreams,” he whispers. 

“I know,” Bucky whispers back. “But they still hurt. Just thinking about hurting you—”

Steve doesn’t allow himself time to think about whether he should or shouldn’t. He just rolls over and leans into the space between them, and presses his lips to Bucky’s forehead. For some reason, it’s the only gesture that makes sense to him at the moment.

To his relief, Bucky doesn’t respond by pushing Steve off, or pulling away. Instead, he breathes out a shaky laugh under his breath, and then Steve’s heart nearly comes flying out of his chest when Bucky tilts his head back to drag his lips along the curve of Steve’s jawline. 

“Good thing you’re not so scrawny anymore,” he murmurs, making goosebumps rise on Steve’s skin. “I don’t think I could get the drop on you now even if I tried…”

The sentence almost makes Steve laugh, but the sound comes out like a nervous squawk rather than a guffaw as Steve pulls away. He’s not sure what’s going on, but his pulse is suddenly beating faster than the pistons of a runaway train. Inside his head, his thoughts are babbling over one another, asking questions, demanding actions, urging caution, and Steve has no idea which one to listen to.

He doesn’t have to make a decision, however, because then Bucky turns on his side, his shoulder demanding the space where Steve’s chest is currently residing, forcing Steve to move back. Feeling both disappointed and exhilarated at the same time, Steve sinks back down onto his own cot to lie on his back. As he does, he feels Bucky’s fingers brush across the back of his hand, before shifting around to lace themselves with Steve’s own. 

They're holding hands. 

It’s not the same way they’ve held hands so far, and Steve knows that Bucky’s very well aware of it. The way their fingers weave together is far more intimate than what an ordinary clasp of hands could ever be. And with the way Bucky had brushed his lips against Steve’s neck just now… 

Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep, grounding breath. He won’t let himself go down that path. Not now while they’re still out in the field. Not now, when Bucky’s still trying to shake the lingering shadows of nightmares off of him. If that incident turns out to have been just that; an incident, then worrying about it won’t matter. And should it be something—  something  _ more  _ than just an incident… Well, then time will most likely tell anyway. 

It’s a logical thought, but as much as his brain agrees that this is the correct decision, Steve’s body is viciously opposing it. His nerves feel like they’re on fire, and his skin is tingling with sensations that makes lying still extremely difficult. 

However, Bucky’s hand is firm in Steve’s own, and that solid point of focus, of intimacy, is what finally gets Steve’s mind back into control enough to relax again. To take yet another deep breath, and allow himself to slowly drift off to sleep once more.

Because it feels good. 

It feels safe.

In a sense – at least to Steve – it sort of feels a little bit like home.

 

/\/\/\

 

After Bucky’s reveal regarding his time with Hydra, the nights turn… different. Most noticeably, the nightmares stop. Instead, Bucky sleeps through as if he’s been smacked in the back of the head with a shovel, comfortably sprawled out on his stomach, or curled up on his side like a big cat. He keeps holding Steve’s hand, however. Lying with his arm stretched across the small gap between them, he never lets go, not even when he shifts in his sleep. He lies as close to the edge as he can, as if he would have wanted them to be even closer together, and Steve finds himself silently cursing the empty, yet unfortunately inescapable distance between their cots.

If he has to be honest with himself, Steve’s not quite sure what to think of it. Of course, Bucky getting better is good, as is the fact that he doesn’t seem to think the lack of nightmares means they have to change their current sleeping arrangements, but… He still doesn’t know exactly what Bucky  _ wants. _

The memories of that night – the night Steve had traded his heart for the warmth of Bucky’s hands and lips –  are coming back, clearer and sharper than ever. Every night, Steve lies there, wondering whether or not Bucky is thinking about that time too… 

Even afterwards, Steve had found it hard to think of Bucky as anything but a ladies’ man, despite the fact that he had been there to experience for himself how Bucky had reacted to the touch of male hands… But Bucky didn’t act as if Steve’s touch had been anything special. Instead, he had behaved as if Steve and he had done something horrible rather than wonderful, and it had cut Steve to the very core of his soul to have Bucky recoil from his touch the morning after.

So much time has passed since then. And now… 

Steve wishes he could read Bucky’s mind and figure out what the guy’s intentions are. After all, it’s not like he can just go ahead and  _ ask. _ Right? That would be a terrible way to get rejected. To ask Bucky what all this means and reveal that he’s been thinking there might be more to this than just a friend helping out another. Only to have Bucky stare back at him with that empty, almost disgusted look in his eyes. Again… 

Maybe the next time they get back to London? When the threat of getting ambushed by the enemy isn’t lurking behind every single bend in the road. Where they can sit down and talk about this, properly, and… maybe… 

No, that’s a thought that’s far too big for Steve’s head right now. Too impossible. Too amazing. Besides, Steve needs his focus for the mission, and dwelling on what might or might not happen once they get back –  _ if _ they get back – is simply a waste of time and energy.

So he leaves it be, and keeps holding Bucky’s hand at night. Keeps altering between cursing and thanking the gaping distance between their cots.

Then, eight days after Steve had gotten to feel the ghost of Bucky’s breath beat across the exposed skin of his neck for the second time of his life, everything goes wrong… 

The enemy, which was supposed to have evacuated the area by now, somehow ends up sending an entire squad into their path as they’re heading towards their next recon point. One moment they’re alone, marching along in silence, and the next, they’re facing down a dozen Hydra agents, who look just about as surprised about seeing the Howlies as the Howlies are about seeing them. 

The shocked silence feels like it drags on for ages, but Steve barely has time to register their opponent’s numbers, their weapons, and the state of their equipment and clothing. They’re in luck, because the troop looks like it’s been out in the field even longer than they have, and many of them are young, which means they’re most likely inexperienced and lacking the same stamina as seasoned soldiers. Steve doesn’t like the way the strategic part of his brain immediately supplies him with all the ways his own group could exploit that to their advantage… 

As chaos breaks loose, and the Howlies split up to fight, Steve goes for the youngest-looking one in the group first. Knocking him out is easy – hardly an effort – but Steve’s act of mercy is only rewarded with a shot to the back a split second after. Luckily, he’s still got his shield strapped to his back, and thankfully, these guys must have missed the intel that shooting at the shield is basically pointless. 

He twirls around, locking eyes with the man who’d fired the shot; a big guy, most likely the squad leader as he’s significantly older than the rest of the group. As Steve straightens up, the man visibly cowers, but Steve doesn’t get the time to take as much as a step towards him before Bucky’s suddenly there. 

He moves silently, and quicker than Steve’s ever seen him as he suddenly appears directly on the guy’s left, and drives the stock of his gun into the crook between the Hydra agent’s neck and shoulder. The man gasps, choking on his breath, and then drops to the ground like a sack of potatoes. But Bucky isn’t done.

Steve watches, mute with shock at how Bucky grabs the man by the collar before he can collapse completely, and throws him onto the ground with a mute snarl, baring his teeth. There’s something in his face that sends chills racing down Steve’s spine; something wild and brutal. Frigid and cold like a blizzard. The look of it is scaring Steve half to death.

He stares, suddenly unaware of the fight still raging around him, how Bucky straddles the fallen agent across the chest, lifts his right arm, and drives his fist into the man’s face with a wet crack of bones, breaking his nose. Then he does it again, and again, and Steve can’t move. He knows that the other Howlies are slowly gaining the upper hand, and how they all, friends and foes alike, are turning their attention to look on in horror and worry as Bucky beats his prey into a bloody pulp.

The Hydra agent isn’t even conscious enough to scream. If he’s even alive. That’s the thought that finally gets Steve moving – that, and the complete lack of emotion in Bucky’s eyes. 

“Bucky!” Steve steps up and grabs hold of Bucky’s wrist, just as Bucky’s about to bring it down yet again, and is caught off guard by the fact that he actually has to make an effort to hold it in place. “Bucky, stop it!”

Bucky doesn’t even look at him. Instead, he makes a threatening sound in the back of his throat; not quite a growl, and not angry enough to be a snarl. Just a grunt, yet that one noise is enough to convey exactly what Bucky thinks about Steve holding him back. 

“Bucky,” Steve snaps, “that’s  _ enough! _ ”

With a hard yank, he pulls Bucky up and off the poor man, who slumps to the ground in a limp pile. Steve makes a highly conscious decision not to look at the remains of the agent’s face as he shoves Bucky away, placing himself between the two like a human shield. 

But Bucky doesn’t try to get past him. He just slowly takes a few steps backs, chest heaving, his gaze glassy, expressionless. He looks past the frame of Steve’s torso at the man on the ground, as if he’s trying to determine whether or not the bloody mess of flesh and bone is worth his further attention. Then he turns and walks away.

For a moment, Steve finds himself torn in half. One part of him wants to go after Bucky and make sure he’s okay, but the other tells him that he can’t leave, not now. They have prisoners to take care of, a situation they need to clear. Once that’s done, he can worry about his men and their emotions. Bucky’s a soldier, and even if he’s having a situation of his own right now, Steve’s sure he can handle himself for the time being. 

“Jim,” he starts, turning towards Morita. “Round up the prisoners. We have to—”

“Bloody hell!”

Steve is cut off by a shout from Falsworth, and he turns around, startled, just in time to see the Hydra agent by Falsworth’s side sag to the ground with white froth foaming around his mouth. Before any of them can react, the other prisoners begin to follow suit, dropping like flies onto the ground by their feet.

“Cyanide capsules!” Dum Dum exclaims, but it’s already too late. Helpless, they watch as the men’s bodies give a series of weak twitches, before growing still and lifeless as the poison does its dirty work. Soon enough, the air around them is filled with the gutural wheezes and garbled burbles of the dying.

“Well, fuck,” Jones breathes out, his eyes wide as he gives one of the bodies a light nudge with the tip of his boot. “These guys don’t mess around with the whole ‘fight or die’ deal, do they?”

“Hydra demands loyalty,” Steve murmurs sadly, recalling all too well the first time he had seen the very same scenario back in Brooklyn Harbour. 

“Well, they sure lived up to their part of the bargain,” Pinkerton comments bitterly. “They all went and fucking topped themselves…”

“Not all of them,” Dernier points out, nodding towards the youngster Steve had knocked out during the initial fighting. “That one’s still sleeping.”

“Well then,” Dum Dum grumbles as he drops his pack onto the ground with a loud thud, reaching into the side pocket. When he pulls the hand back out, he’s holding a pair of metal pliers in his grip. “Let’s make sure when he wakes up, he stays awake, shall we?”

 

/\/\/\

 

Steve unscrews the cap of his canteen, and pours a bit of the water over the face of the young man, who’s now been tighty secured to a nearby tree, just to make things easier. The first splash has no effect, but after the second and third one, the man groans as his eyelids slowly flutter open. At first, he’s groggy and disoriented, but then his gaze falls on Steve, who’s standing over him. Immediately, his eyes widen as his sight clears, the panic slamming into him hard and relentless before setting into something determined, emotionless as he clenches his jaw, and bites down hard.

When nothing happens, however, the vacant look in his eyes falters as the fear inside them flickers to life once more. 

“Sorry, son,” Dugan offers, though without much sympathy. He holds the pliers up in one hand, at the same time as he lifts the other to display the somewhat bloody cyanide capsule held between his thumb and index finger. “Looks like you’ll be sticking around for a little while longer.”

The young man’s nostrils flare – out of fear or anger, Steve can’t tell – and then he bares his teeth and spits on the ground by Dugan’s feet. He snarls something in a language Steve identifies as a long, and very colorful litany of curses in Croatian. 

All it takes is a stern frown from Steve, and the man instantly goes quiet.

“Listen up, pal,” Steve informs him solemnly, “You’re gonna get one chance, and one chance only—”

_ “ _ _ Jebi se, kurvin sine!” _

“— and if you behave yourself,” Steve continues, ignoring the interruption, “we might decide not to leave you out here to starve.”

_ “Ne govorim engleski,” _ the man growls, glaring daggers at him. Steve meets his gaze, calm and steady.

“Yes you do,” he says gravely, and the young man’s face grows pale when Steve crouches down and leans in to look him dead in the eye as he adds, “And if you call my mother a whore one more time, I’m gonna make sure you’d hoped Dum Dum over there had pulled out the rest of your teeth while he was at it.” 

Steve sits back on his heels, waiting. He doesn’t have to look behind him to know that Dum Dum’s pointedly begun to play with the pliers in his hand – all it takes is seeing the wide-eyed stare the tied-up man suddenly sends over Steve’s shoulder – and Steve has to fight down a sigh of relief when the man swallows hard at the sight, and begins to talk.

After all, torture’s never been Steve’s way of doing things. Hydra, on the other hand, favors it, which oftens saves the Howlies from coming up with creative threats whenever they find themselves in need of interrogating someone. Hydra’s disciplinary methods have a tendency to inspire the agents’ imagination well enough to do the dirty work for them. And so, as many times before, the prisoner talks, and what he tells them turns out to be even more worrying than any of them had thought. 

According to the intel they’d been given in London, Hydra’s agents were supposed to be centered around western Europe right about now, leaving them free to do recon in this area without the fear of being discovered or caught. However, according to their newfound friend, Hydra is pulling their forces  _ back,  _ orders effective immediately; no exceptions. Now, the only reason they’d do that in the middle of the war is if they’re planning something big – bigger than anything the Allies have seen this far – and Steve has a strong suspicion that the people back at HQ will be very interested to hear about it.

They have to pull out of the mission. They have no choice. 

In a way, having only one prisoner makes the journey back a lot easier. Apparently, the Howlies have a reputation among Hydra’s new recruits, and once the kid realizes whom he’s been captured by, he turns surprisingly docile. Steve’s relieved. However, the fact that Bucky still hasn't said a word to any of them by the time they make it back to their previous campsite from the night before, makes Steve feel anything but enthusiastic.

He takes note of how Bucky immediately takes it upon himself to stand watch at the perimeter of the camp. It’s not a bad idea – after all, there could be more platoons skulking around out there – but regardless, Steve can’t help but see the wordless action as anything but ominous. 

He takes a moment to give Morita and Dugan instructions regarding food and housing for their guest, and after that, he makes an excuse out of checking their remaining supplies in order to give himself some time to think. To actually analyse what the hell had happened back there.

Steve’s seen Bucky fight before. With the number of times Bucky’s had to jump in to haul Steve’s bleeding ass out of a fist-fight, how could he not have? But he had never seen Bucky use his fists like he had on that poor son-of-a-bitch today… 

Bucky had been savage. Completely out of bounds. The memory of that vacant expression on his face alone will surely haunt Steve till the end of time, not just because it was there, but because it didn’t go away. After Steve hauled Bucky off, he had expected Bucky to snap out of it and come to his senses, but that hadn’t happened. The look in Bucky’s eyes had still been blank and barren, and that had scared Steve more than the sight of violence ever would.

Steve doesn’t know what to think. He had been so sure that the two of them sharing tents had helped Bucky deal with whatever Hydra had done to him – Steve’s not even sure that he wants to know exactly what those things were at this point – but that had apparently not been the case. Not only does it make him feel disappointed, but he also feels downright  _ stupid. _ Because he hadn’t been able to help after all. And as Steve thinks back on the fantasies he had allowed himself to indulge during those nights, however brief or innocent, he feels even more ashamed. Selfish.

Bucky needed – _ needs _ – a friend, now more than ever, and Steve is not about to make the same mistake twice. His own thoughts and emotions will have to step aside completely this time. There’s no room for them in this matter. This time, he’ll do it  _ right, _ for both their sakes… 

He can tell by the rigid squaring of Bucky’s shoulders as he approaches that Bucky’s not in the mood for talking. There’s no doubt in his mind that Bucky knows it’s him, even without turning around, just like Steve would recognize the sound of Bucky’s own gait even with his eyes closed. His suspicion is confirmed when Bucky grunts out a low, “Not now, Steve,” over his shoulder without even turning around to look as Steve comes to a halt behind him.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it—” Steve starts.

“Damn straight, I don’t.”

“—but I need to know what’s going on with you,” Steve continues. “Which means that I need you to  _ actually  _ talk to me.”

“About what exactly?” Bucky asks grumpily.

“For starters, you can tell me what the hell just happened back there.”

“Well, I don’t feel like telling you.”

_ “Bucky.” _ Steve doesn’t shout, he doesn’t even raise his voice. The name passes his lips as a warning, nothing more, yet it’s more than enough to make Bucky finally turn around to look at him – even if the look is nothing but a glare.

Steve meets it head on for a few seconds. Then he sighs and takes a step forward so that he’s standing on Bucky’s left, turning to face him. “I am your friend,” Steve says softly, “but if you’re not able to answer me as one, then you leave me no choice but to ask you as your superior.”

Bucky’s gaze hardens, his nostrils flaring.

“We’re still at war,” Steve continues. “And I still have a squad to lead. If one of my men isn’t capable of doing his job, then I  _ need  _ to know about it. You’re an officer too, Buck, surely you can understand that?”

“So you’re saying what?” Bucky asks grimly. “That you don’t think I’m fit for the Howlies anymore? You wanna send me home, is that it?”

“Don’t be stupid, of course that’s not what I’m saying,” Steve objects.

“Then what do you want from me?”

“I want you to tell me the truth,” Steve replies. “Why you did the thing you did.”

Bucky’s lips instantly narrow into a thin, hard line, and Steve sighs, shaking his head.

“Dammit, Bucky,” he hisses, “let me  _ help _ you.”

“You  _ can’t  _ help me,” Bucky snaps back. “For fuck’s sake, Steve, you  _ saw  _ me! You  _ saw  _ what I did, what I’m turning into!”

“That wasn’t you,” Steve decides firmly. “Not the real you, at least.”

“Oh, it was,” Bucky says grimly. “It was all me, Steve.” He snorts out a laugh through his nose; a cold, hard sound. His face is grim, his posture tense and defiant where he stands. 

“And you know what, I’m not even sorry about it,” he confesses, just as frigid. “And I hate myself for that, because I  _ know  _ I should be sorry. I should be disgusted with myself for what I did to him, but I’m not. I’m a fucking  _ monster _ , Steve, and no matter how many nights you spend holding my hand like I’m some scared little toddler, nothing’s gonna change that.” 

With another snort, Bucky turns away, hissing through gritted teeth, “God, I was so  _ stupid.  _ Thinking you could—”

“Bucky…” Steve reaches out to place his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, but Bucky shrugs him off before Steve’s palm even has time to settle on his jacket.  

“Don’t touch me,” he growls. 

Steve lets his hand drop, and a look of hurt flashes across Bucky’s face. As if he had thought – hoped – that Steve wouldn’t actually listen to him.

“Just… leave me alone,” he says hoarsely, and Steve does indeed remain where he stands as he watches Bucky walk away, feeling the lingering force of Bucky’s words twist inside him like a knife. 

 

/\/\/\ 

 

When Steve enters their tent that night, Bucky is already there, and the sight of him catches Steve off guard. He had expected Bucky to spend the night as far away from Steve as possible, so as he pulls the canvas aside to reveal the sight of Bucky sitting on his cot, he finds himself at a momentary loss for words.

“Hey,” he manages eventually. 

Bucky doesn't answer him. 

Steve licks his lips and swallows. “How are you feeling?”

The question earns him a brief flicker of steel grey eyes, followed by a barely-there shrug. Steve decides to take it as a sign that it's okay for him to enter the tent, at least. 

Hey crawls through the opening and onto his cot, realizing that he’s trying to sneak when the creak of the wooden frame has him cringing on the inside. 

“Did you eat?” he asks, trying to make it sound as if he's asking out of curiosity rather than concern.  

“No.”

Oh, words. Progres.

“I think there's some of Jones’ stew left,” Steve continues. “If you want, I could go get you some?”

“I'm not hungry.”

“You've gotta eat,” Steve objects cheerfully. “Or you'll be just skin and bones when we get back to base.”

“Good,” Bucky grumbles back, the muscles of his back bunching together as he pulls his shoulders up around his ears. “Then maybe they won't send me back out again.”

Steve’s smile falters, and his heart drops inside his chest.

“Bucky…” 

On reflex, Steve reaches for Bucky's shoulder, but Bucky pulls away from the touch as he abruptly gets off his cot.

“Don't,” he hisses, and Steve let's his hand drop as Bucky turns away, heading for the door. “I don't need any of your pity.”

For the second time that day, Steve watches Bucky walk away from him. Somehow, the second time manages to hurt even more.

Steve has no idea what to do.

If he goes after him, he strongly suspects that Bucky will only get angry and lash out at him. Had they been back in Brooklyn, Steve wouldn't have hesitated to do so anyway, but they're not home right now. They're in the middle of enemy territory, and internal conflicts is the last thing they need. Getting back to safety will be difficult enough as it is with the captain of the squad currently receiving the silent treatment from his second in command…

So Steve waits. He waits until the last rays of the setting sun are no longer able to see through the seams of the tent, and the sounds of other men settling in for the night come drifting through the canvas.

In the end, at some point during the night, Steve eventually drifts off to sleep, facing the abandoned cot opposite his. 

When he wakes up at dawn, it's still empty.

They march all day, only allowing for short breaks to rest and eat when it's needed. Bucky cleverly stays clear of Steve by scouting ahead of them for potential dangers. He leaves his reports to either Dugan or Jones who are in the lead, rather than Steve, who keeps to the rear of the group to fend off any potential surprise attacks.

They don't stop until it's too dark for anyone but Steve to see ahead, and they quickly set up their tents, knowing that they'll be leaving again after only a few hours of rest.

Steve dares another attempt to initiate conversation with Bucky, but Bucky’s having none of it, and Steve is once again left in the tent by himself.

On the third and following nights, Bucky doesn't show up to sleep at all, and by the time they get back to the base, both Steve and Bucky have equally dark circles underneath their eyes. 

Steve is tired, mentally exhausted, and testy from lack of sleep, and as he spots Bucky trying to make a break for the barracks the moment they enter the camp’s perimeter, Steve decides that enough is enough. He stalks across the yard, grabs Bucky by the arm and hauls him around with a yank that should have been enough to send any grown man toppling to the ground. Bucky, on the other hand, doesn’t as much as wobble.

“Let go of me,” he snaps under his breath, glaring daggers at Steve, who’s grip doesn’t as much as falter. “I told you, I don’t need your help, I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are,” Steve growls.  _ “This,” _ he says, gesturing up and down Bucky’s body, “is the  _ opposite _ of fine.”

Bucky glares, and Steve glares right back.

“I’m sick of this, Buck,” Steve continues. “You need sleep, and I’m gonna make sure you get it.”

“You really think  _ sleep  _ will be able to fix what’s wrong with me?” Bucky asks sarcastically. “Are you that fucking stupid?”

“I never said it would  _ fix _ anything,” Steve objects sternly. “But I think it’s a start.”

“Sleep won’t help,” Bucky stubbornly declares. “We already tried that, and look what happened.”

“Bucky—”

“ _ No. _ ” Bucky pulls back, yanking himself out of Steve’s grip. “Enough of this shit!  _ You can’t make this right, _ don’t you  _ get  _ that? Just leave it alone already!”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“And why the hell not?!” Bucky demands loudly, and Steve opens his mouth, drags in a breath… and closes it again.

Bucky glares at him, and Steve meets his gaze, swallowing hard. 

“You know why,” he murmurs, and something in Bucky’s eyes shifts as Bucky’s face suddenly loses its tension. He looks away.

“Steve—”

“Don’t say it.”

Bucky clamps his mouth shut, and Steve swallows again. 

“I know we never talked about it,” he says. “You never wanted to talk about it, and I've respected that.”

Bucky's gaze flickers as it makes an anxious sweep over the surrounding tents, but Steve doesn't pause.

“I know you know how I felt,” he continues. “And I never wanted to pressure you or make you feel bad about it, because no matter what had happened between us that one time, you're still my best friend. You'll always be. And I'll always… care for you, no matter how you feel about me.”

“Steve…” Bucky looks back up, and the pleading gleam gleam in his eyes makes Steve's soul ache. “You saw what I did,” Bucky tries to reason. “You can’t possibly be  _ in love— _ ”

“But I am…” Steve objects. He looks down at his feet. “You know I am.”

He hears Bucky swallow, and sees his friend’s feet shift as Bucky let's out a deep, dejected sigh.

Steve can feel a fine tremble in his limbs, but he's not sure whether it's because he's angry, frustrated, or because he’s just admitted having been in love with Bucky all this time. At the moment he doesn't really care either, because what matters right now is to get Bucky the help he needs. Steve knows that he can stand here and promise Bucky the moon, but if Bucky doesn't accept any of it freely, it won't matter for nothing.

“Listen,” Steve says softly, “I don't expect you to change overnight. And no matter what happens, or how things go, I want you to know that you don't owe me anything. Alright? I just want to help you.”

“But I—”

“You need  _ sleep _ ,” Steve cuts Bucky off. “So let me do that for you. Just that one thing, just for tonight. I’ve got private quarters here; Not some drafty old tent, but an actual  _ room _ , with a proper bed, and heating.  _ Please? _ ”

“Is that Steven Rogers asking?” Bucky mutters. “Or Captain America?”

Steve's shoulders slump. “It's me, Buck,” he says softly. “It'll always be me.”

At that, Bucky glances up at Steve through his lashes. Then he sneaks a look from the corner of his eye to see if they're still out of earshot from anyone else. 

“What if people see me go inside?” he asks.

“You haven't forgotten how to sneak around, have you?” Steve asks. "This ain't exactly the first time you've climbed through my bedroom window. No one will see you.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, most likely recalling all-too-well the number of times Steve's mother had caught him hiding in Steve's room after dark on late summer evenings. 

Then he frowns.

“You only have one bed,” be says slowly.

“Don't worry,” Steve says quickly. “I have a chair by my desk, I'll sleep there.”

“Like hell you will,” Bucky retorts. “I’m not about to let you sleep in a fucking chair when there’s a bed right there. I’ll take the chair.”

“No, you’re not.”

“What,” Bucky asks with a snort, “you're gonna physically move me if I try?”

“Damn right, I am.”

Bucky straightens up, narrowing his eyes, and Steve mimics him as he sends back a challenging glower. They stand like that, staring each other down for what feels like ages, but eventually Steve sighs, exasperated.

“Fine,” he grumbles, “so how do you suggest we do this then? Sleep in the bed together?”

Bucky blinks. Then he shrugs.

“Why not?” he asks. “It’ll be like one of those sleepovers we used to have.”

“We were smaller back then,” Steve points out. “ _ Me  _ in particular.”

“The beds here on base are wider than both our travel cots put together,” Bucky argues.”We’ll fit.”

Steve squints at his friend as he searches Bucky's face for any sign of insincerity, but finds none.

“Just like that?” he asks skeptically. “You're not gonna fight me about it anymore?”

“Would it matter?” Bucky asks. “You'll never leave it alone anyway, so what's the point?”

Steve would like to argue against that, but as he realizes that doing so might cause Bucky to change his mind, Steve decides to let the comment slip by uncommented.

“Alright then,” he says instead, and Bucky shrugs again.

“Fine,” he replies flatly.

For a brief moment, their eyes meet; summer sky blue meeting winter grey. Steve hesitates, but then he reaches out and clasps a hand over Bucky's shoulder, and the feeling of triumphant relief that goes through him when Bucky doesn't pull away is enough to bring the tremble back to his fingers.

“I’ll leave the window open,” he says as he lets his hand drop. “Try not to make too much noise.”

“I know what  _ sneaking _ means,” Bucky mutters. 

“Of course,” Steve says, and Bucky’s eyes immediately narrow into slits again.

“You’re lucky I can’t smack your punk-ass upside the head while you’re in that uniform,” he threatens soberly.

“Don’t worry,” Steve replies. “As long as you show up tonight, I'll give you a free swing.”

 

/\/\/\

 

Bucky climbs through Steve’s window about thirty seconds after Steve opens it. Had it not been for Steve’s enhanced hearing, he most likely wouldn’t have even noticed. Bucky slips across the window sill like a shadow, and the floor barely creaks as he puts his weight on it, as if he weighed nothing. Once inside, Bucky quickly closes the window and pulls the curtains, straightens up with a glance at Steve, and stands there, as if waiting for further instructions. Or orders.

“You’ve changed your mind?” Steve asks.  He keeps his voice down, even though this part of the barracks is barely inhabited at the moment with so many soldiers out in the field. The consequences of being caught at this point  would be nil, but Steve would rather avoid any uncomfortable questions.

“No.” Bucky's voice is equally low; barely a murmur in the dimmed light from Steve's desk lamp. Bucky keeps his head high as he says it too, looking Steve straight in the eye, but Steve can't shake the feeling that Bucky might as well have replied to him with his back turned. 

“Well,” Steve says with a pointed nod towards the mud on Bucky's boots, “you’re not getting in my bed with those on. Take ‘em off.”

Bucky makes an exaggerated eye roll as he bends down to undo his laces and kick the boots off. He grabs for his jacket, then pauses, when Steve only gives him a long look, he defiantly shucks it off and tosses it onto a nearby chair.

As Bucky reaches for his belt, Steve politely turns around. He's seen Bucky undress down to much less than his shirt and underwear out in the field, but with Steve's chaotic love confession from earlier, Steve doesn't want Bucky to think he's ogling.

He waits until he hears the sound of Bucky's bare feet pad across the room, and the bedsprings give a whiny groan as Bucky crawls onto the mattress. As Steve turns around, Bucky's lying with his face to the wall and the covers pulled high around his shoulders. He's still got his undershirt on, and Steve's mood falters at the sight of the rigid shoulders underneath.

Silently, Steve rids himself off his own clothes, apart from his undershirt and shorts, and goes to turn off the desk light. The room instantly plunges into darkness, and without the light that usually filters in through the windows, even Steve finds himself at a disadvantage as he begins to manoeuvre himself through the room towards the bed.

His left big toe finds it first, and Steve bites back a curse as he lifts the covers to crawl in next to Bucky.

There, he realizes two things at once. The first is that Bucky is obviously still on edge, because he doesn’t move to give Steve any additional room as Steve makes an attempt to lie down. His body is rigid, the muscles tense. It’s like lying next to a giant brick.

Steve had hoped their talk from before would have loosened him up a little, but apparently that's not the case. 

The second thing he realizes, is that even though the bed might be larger than their Army-issue field cots, the covers of the bed are not. And since Bucky's already wrapped himself up in most of them, it leaves Steve with two options: either he asks Bucky if he'd mind sharing the covers with him, or he sleeps without them.

Steve knows that he doesn't  _ need _ the covers, per se, but there's just something about sleeping without them that makes him feel weirdly uncomfortable. 

He opens his mouth and drags in a breath to ask Bucky if he'd mind relenting for Steve's sake, but he doesn't get past the first syllable before Bucky cuts him off.

“Don’t.”

Steve closes his mouth again, and Bucky sighs. 

“Just… not tonight. Okay? I— I don’t even know what to tell ya, so don’t ask.”

Even though Bucky apparently thinks Steve had been about to ask him about something else entirely, Steve still immediately wants to say no. The protective side of him wants to know what’s going on, to demand that Bucky tell him. 

Then again… maybe Bucky isn't talking about anything related to Hydra at all? Perhaps Bucky thinks Steve wants to talk about… that other thing. About Steve being in love with him.

Is that what Bucky’s not capable of talking about right now? If that's the case, then Steve sure as hell don't want to push him on it.

“Alright,” he mumbles, and maybe it's his imagination, but he's almost certain that Bucky's posture relaxes somewhat. 

The room grows silent. Bucky is still lying on his side, facing away from Steve, and Steve takes one final look at the back of his friend’s neck, and then turns away.

Perhaps things will be better in the morning, once Bucky's gotten some rest. To be fair, they're both exhausted from the mission, and Steve would be lying if he said he hadn't been looking forward to some proper sleep as well. These past weeks have been nothing like he had expected them to be, and maybe, once they get back to London, he and Bucky can have a proper talk. Maybe even—  

“He shot you.”

Steve blinks back into the present, for a moment unsure if he actually heard what he thought he heard.

“I saw it,” Bucky murmurs against the wall. “He raised his gun and shot you square in the back.”

“He hit my shield,” Steve corrects carefully.

“He hit  _ you, _ ” Bucky declares grimly. He sounds as if he's gritting his teeth, and Steve can feel the skin on the back of his neck prickle at the tone of his voice.

The seconds tick by and Steve finds himself holding his breath, waiting in the dark for something more. He doesn't have to wait long.

“Remember when I told you I couldn't get angry anymore?”

“Yeah?” Steve replies under his breath.

“Well,  _ he _ made me angry,” Bucky confesses. “He made me fucking furious. I swear, I could have ripped him apart with my bare hands.”

Steve swallows. “You almost did,” he points out.

“I know.” Bucky's voice suddenly goes from angry to brittle. “I've had nightmares about it ever since…”

Steve turns his head. Bucky hasn't moved as much as an inch since the last time he looked, but Steve can see the difference reflected in the tension of his muscles clearly.

Wordlessly, he turns and reaches over, wraps one arm around Bucky's chest over the covers, and cradles him to his chest. As he does, he feels Bucky fumble his own hand out of the covers to clutch around Steve's arm.

“We're fighting a war,” Steve murmurs. “There are so many emotions and levels of stress, things like that are bound to happen. Honestly, Buck, it could have happened to anyone of us.” Gently, he presses his forehead to the nape of Bucky's neck. “You're going to be fine. This war won't last forever, and whatever you did, or will do during its course, I will never once judge you for it. Ever.”

Bucky's fingers dig harder into Steve's arm, and Steve feels the width of Bucky's chest expand as he draws a deep, stoic gulp of air into his lungs. As Bucky sniffs once, quietly under his breath Steve presses his lips against the skin of Bucky's neck out of pure instinct, not really thinking about what he's doing.

“I've got you, buddy,” he murmurs. “Don't you worry.”

Bucky doesn't say anything, but his grip on Steve's arm doesn't let up. Steve wonders if maybe he should have let the kiss speak for itself, and if perhaps trying to put it into words had been a mistake. Suddenly, Bucky begins to shuffle about with the covers, squirming around – still without letting Steve go – until he manages to dislodge the blankets from around himself. Then he haphazardly tosses a corner of the bedding over Steve's middle. 

“Here,” he grunts while wiggling closer so that the material can cover them both. “Before you catch a cold or something.”

Steve wants to jokingly point out the impossibility of that ever happening, but decides to keep his mouth shut, and obediently crawls under the covers. Bucky's back presses tight against Steve's chest, and Steve is acutely aware of how close his hips are to Bucky's ass where they lie, while Bucky doesn't even seem to notice.

“Damn your feet are freezing,” Bucky mutters, and then immediately counters his own exclamation with pressing the soles of his own feet against the top of Steve's toes.

“Sorry,” Steve mumbles.

“Lucky the rest of you is so warm,” Bucky continues. “Or I would have kicked you out of the damn bed.”

“So I'm only allowed to stay as long as I keep you warm, is that it?”

“Yes.”

Steve snorts out a laugh at the deadpan reply, feeling Bucky's own chuckle travel through his chest as Bucky echoes him. 

Steve briefly presses his forehead against Bucky's shoulder before he settles his head onto one of the two pillows with a soft sigh of relief, closing his eyes.

“Hey, Steve?” Bucky murmurs.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Steve smiles.

“Don't mention it.”

 

/\/\/\           

 

Steve doesn't jerk awake. Instead, it's like he's rising out of sleep like a bubble through water, and the closer he gets to the surface, the more aware he becomes of his surroundings.

First, he notices that it's still dark. Second, that he's lying on his back with Bucky's head resting on his arm, and third, that Bucky's got his fingers clutching the front of Steve's undershirt as he makes muffled noises into the fabric.

Steve's brain immediately leaps to the word ‘nightmare’, and he puts his hand on Bucky's shoulder by reflex before his brain can inform him off all the other things Steve's sleep-infused mind hasn't had time to notice yet.

Like the fact that the noises Bucky's making don't sound like the product of any nightmare Steve's ever had. Or the slow, grinding circles currently being pressed against his hip as Bucky rocks himself against Steve's body. Or the fact that Bucky's hard through his underwear, and that Steve's own cock apparently woke up long before Steve himself did, and is currently working on catching up to the state of Bucky's erection.

Once THOSE realizations hit, however, Steve’s heart freezes inside his chest and he let's go of Bucky's shoulder as if he's burned himself. 

_ Jesus Christ, _ his mind blares at him.  _ Oh, holy fucking shit! _

He shouldn't look. He knows he shouldn't. Bucky is asleep for Christ’s sake, he's not doing it on purpose. He doesn't even  _ know _ he's doing it, and looking at him like this, at his most vulnerable and exposed wouldn't be right.  

So instead Steve lies there, with his hands curled into fists by his side and his gaze intently fixed on the ceilings, while his panicking brain tries to both will his own erection down and struggle with the dilemma of what to do.

While he does that, Bucky continues to move against him, and with every lazy roll of his hips, Bucky lets out another one of those breathless groans against Steve's chest. They're horrible noises, Steve decides. Horrible, wonderful, painfully good noises, and Steve wants them to end just as much as he wishes they'd never stop. 

He should shove Bucky off of him. Pretend that he just turned over in his sleep; that he's completely unaware that Bucky's using him to unknowingly physically pleasure himself.

But he can't bring himself to move. 

His dick is throbbing in his shorts, and his head is spinning where he lies, his stomach damn near curling in on itself with every sound falling from Bucky's lips, and Steve. Can't. Move.

He's just begun to consider if he should simply wake the poor guy up and suffer through whatever humiliation that may come of that when Bucky suddenly goes rigid, gasps, and then lets out a moan so loud Steve has to clench his teeth not to echo him.

Then…

“Steve…”

It's a bucket of icy cold water, followed by one that's scalding hot, and Steve can't breathe. His entire body has gone on strike, because there is  _ no way _ he just heard—  

“Oh, fuck, Steve…”

Holy shit.

For what feels like half an eternity, the only thing that exists for Steve is the icy feeling in the pit of his stomach, along with the sudden hot flush that rushes through his entire body, starting at the base of his spine and ending in his groin. Then Bucky moans again as he shoves his hips forward, and Steve's heart stops when the rhythm of Bucky's breath suddenly changes, and then everything goes dead quiet.

Just like that, Bucky's not moving anymore, and Steve holds his breath in the sudden still of the room; the dreaded silence before the storm.

“Oh, god…”

Steve doesn't move as Bucky slowly sits up and turns away to hide his face in his hands with a low whine. 

“Oh, my god…” he whimpers. “Oh,  _ shit. _ ”

“Bucky,” Steve dares, “it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not,” Bucky objects, the rising panic bringing a tremble to his voice. “ It’s— Jesus fucking  _ Christ…! _ ”

Bucky throws the covers aside as he makes an attempt to climb over Steve and off the bed, but Steve is quicker. He sits up and grabs Bucky by the arm before he can make it past him.

“Bucky, wait.”

“Don’t touch me!” Bucky snarls. He yanks at his arm, trying to shrug Steve off, and Steve reluctantly lets him go.

“Bucky!”

But Bucky doesn't listen as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the floor like he's afraid that Steve's gaze will hurt him if he meets it. It's a look that hurts Steve more than any punch to the face ever could.

“Bucky, I heard you!”

He throws it out like a last resort, not really thinking it will make much of a difference, but Bucky stills anyway. He freezes with his hands braced against the edge of the mattress, and Steve swallows hard as his brain immediately kicks into high gear trying to figure out how to keep Bucky from making a new attempt to leave.

He has to tread carefully. One wrong word and he might never get a chance to help Bucky again. No matter how embarrassing Bucky thinks this is, Steve must show himself as the bigger man.

“You were just dreaming,” he whispers. Bucky's jaw twitches, and Steve nervously licks his lips. “You didn't know what you were doing.”

Gingerly, Steve adjusts his weight to sit up higher on the mattress, keeping his eyes lowered. He's not sure how to approach the situation, and he's definitely not sure how far Bucky's willing to let him push, should he try… 

Then again, no victory ever came from playing things safe. 

“You said my name,” Steve murmurs, glancing up. Bucky shakes his head as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“You did,” Steve insists. “I heard you.”

Again, Bucky shakes his head. He's gnawing on his lips, and that more than anything makes Steve's empathy rise for him.

“Were you having another nightmare?” he asks softly. He holds the question out like a peace offering, and as Bucky gives him a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, Steve knows that Bucky sees the question exactly for what it is.

A way out.

He looks at Bucky through the dim, and Bucky looks back. He knows that Bucky can't possibly see him as well as Steve sees him, but he still tries to school his face into something calm and gentle anyway, just in case.

“Was it about the table again?” he asks.

For the third time that night, Bucky shakes his head, and Steve has to force himself to keep his hands from shaking as he scoots a bit closer.

“You know I'll never force you to tell me,” he says solemnly. “So if you don't want to talk about it you don't have to.” He leans in, whispering softly. “What happened, Buck? In your dream. What did I do to you?”

“Nothing,” Bucky gulps. “I— I don’t remember.”

“Did I hurt you?”

Bucky closes his eyes.

“No…” He admits.

“Did I…” Steve pauses, looking for the words, “...do something else?”

“Steve, I—” Bucky goes quiet as his voice suddenly breaks, and he drags his hands up through his hair with a low groan, fisting it loosely before letting his arms drop once more.

“You touched me…” he whispers, so low that Steve barely hears him. It's a more blunt confession than Steve expects, and it sparks a boldness in Steve's veins that has his pulse racing.

Daringly, he reaches up and splays his hand against the middle of Bucky's back. “Like this?” he asks.

“No.”

Steve moves his hand to gently rub it down his spine in a long, soothing stroke, before he smoothes it back up to brush his fingers against the base of Bucky’s neck, just above the collar of his undershirt.

“Like this?” he whispers.

Bucky swallows tightly, and Steve can feel the skin prickle beneath his fingertips as Bucky replies with an barely audible, “Maybe…”

“Did you like it?” Steve can't believe he even manages to get the question to cross his lips, because at this point his entire body feels like that pudding his mom used to make when he was a kid. But manage it he does, and his stomach damn near ties itself into a knot when Bucky answers with a nod.

With a pulse that's threatening to leave him lightheaded, Steve slides his fingers up to cup Bucky's jaw, and slowly turn his face around at the same time as Steve leans closer.

“Do you like it now?” he breathes.

“Yes…” It's barely a whisper this time; a sigh that knocks the air out of Steve to the point where he has to close his eyes and just breathe for a moment. He swipes his thumb back and forth over Bucky's cheek to ground himself.

“What else did I do?” he manages eventually, but instead of answering, Bucky grabs Steve’s hand, halting the movement of his thumb.

“Steve, I can’t—” He cuts himself off, tightening his grip around Steve’s fingers, and for the first time, Steve  _ gets it. _

“Bucky, look at me.”

Hesitantly, Bucky looks up as he slowly turns to meet Steve’s gaze in the dark. There's a gleam of desperation in his eyes, a fine shine of tears like a plea. For what, Steve doesn't know. 

So he decides to take a chance.

Straightening up, he takes a firm hold around Bucky's cheeks, using both hands this time, and as he leans in he sends a silent prayer that he's not making a huge mistake.

Bucky's lips are dry and chapped, yet somehow remarkably soft against Steve's own. They're full and puffy from Bucky's previous gnawing, and Steve's pretty sure he can taste the faint tang of copper on them from tears in the skin too delicate for him to see. 

It's nothing like the last time, when Bucky's lips had been firm and demanding, with alcohol paving the way and leaving Steve both dizzy and breathless in its wake. This time, Steve's the one leading, and as he pushes in a little firmer, a little harder, Bucky lets out a shivering sigh as he grabs for the sleeves of Steve's shirt to steady himself.

Encouraged, Steve lets one of his hands slip around the back of Bucky's neck, pulling him in. As Bucky gasps out a breathless groan into the space between their lips, Steve can't help but echo him as he deepens the kiss even further.

Bucky clings to him, and the way he presses his mouth against Steve's is just about as desperate as it gets. Needy in the best of ways, as if Steve is air and Bucky is a man on the verge of drowning.

Then suddenly, Bucky breaks away with a weak push against Steve's shoulders, urging him for space. “Wait, wait,” he begs, “Steve, please, wait…”

“Don't you want to?” Steve asks, suddenly terrified that he had managed to misread the signs anyway, but Bucky just shakes his head.

“Of course I do,” he says. “I want— but Steve we  _ can’t.” _

Steve frowns. “Why not?”

“Because we— Because I’m—”

“Hey, hey, listen,” Steve says while wrapping his hand fully around the back of Bucky's neck, shaking him gently to snap him out of the building panic. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Do you understand?”

“But I'm —”

“I know you think so,” Steve interrupts him, canting his head down to catch Bucky's gaze. “I really do, Buck, but you've got to listen to me. Just try to hear me out on this.” Steve licks his lips with a soft shake of his head, trying to figure out where to even start.

“You’re the bravest man I know,” he says eventually. “And I'm not talking about here, in this war, as a soldier, I'm talking about you as a _man_. You've always been brave, and kind, and clever. And I've been so, so lucky to have had you by my side all these years, like you don't even know. You're best guy I’ve ever met, Buck, you— You’re _my_ _best guy_.”

Bucky makes a low, wheezing sound in the back of his throat as he grabs for Steve’s wrist, squeezing weakly. The gesture is so simple, and so profoundly pure, Steve can't help but to gently lean in and press his forehead against Bucky's own with a low sigh.

“I'd do anything to make sure you're safe,” he whispers. “No matter the obstacle, I'd fight my way through it for your sake. So I'm asking you again. As your friend. As  _ me.  _ Let me  _ help. _ ”

“How many times do I have to tell you, you can’t?” Bucky whines, pulling back. “Steve, you  _ can’t  _ help, don’t you get it? They  _ did  _ something to me back there. I mean, I can't even tell if I’m still  _ me _ anymore.”

“Of course you are.” Slowly, Steve strokes his thumb over the ridge of Bucky's cheekbone. “This is you,” he declares. “Right here, this is all you.” 

Gently, he brushes his fingertips along Bucky's jaw, following the line of his neck all the way down to the shoulder. “All of this is you.” Grabbing hold of Bucky’s free hand, Steve squeezes it hard. “I’d recognize these hands anywhere.”

Bucky doesn't move, but he watches Steve bring the hand up and splay it against his shirt-covered chest in silence, right over the heart, and when Steve pulls him back in to press their heads together once more, Bucky lets him.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Steve tells him “That Hydra somehow managed to turn you into some heartless creature without any human feelings. But you can be gentle, Buck, I know it. You’ve always been so good to me. Always taking care of me…”

Using his own hand, Steve rubs Bucky's palm against his chest as he nuzzles Bucky's temple. 

“See?” he says softly. “These are not evil hands. They're strong, kind hands that would never hurt me. That's the only thing I need to know about you, and quite frankly, the only thing I give a damn about.”

At that, Steve feels the Bucky's chest heave as a wet sob manages to shake its way out of Bucky's throat, before Bucky bites the noise back with gritted teeth. Though his efforts, however valiant as they may be, don't help much as it only takes a second before another sob much like the first presses itself past the defences, like sand spilling through the gaps of an all-too-tightly clenched fist.

“Please,” Steve whispers as he rubs his head against Bucky's brow. “Let me take care of you this time. Let  _ me _ be the hero for a change.”

Softly, and barely enough to be called a touch, Steve let's his lips ghost against the corner of Bucky's mouth, and that single touch proves to be enough. 

Bucky whimpers as the last of his defences come tumbling down, and just like that, he’s cradling the back of Steve's head in his hands as he shoves himself forward to latch his lips over Steve's with a desperate noise that sends chills of pleasure down Steve's spine. Bucky kisses him hard and reckless, using the very weight of his own body to push Steve down onto the mattress.

Steve lets him. 

Oh, dear god, does he let him.

Steve grabs around Bucky's waist in an attempt to regain some of his composure, and Bucky groans out loud as he lets go of Steve's head to brace himself against the bedding. He slings a leg over Steve's midsection at the same time as he grinds down, and yup, that's indeed an erection pressing up against Steve's stomach, holy shit.

Inside his shorts, Steve's dick has also picked up on the current situation as it strains against the fabric. As Bucky grinds himself down for the second time, Steve stifles a groan into their kiss. His fingers dig into Bucky's skin through his shirt as Bucky continues to move over Steve’s clothed erection.

Instinctively, Steve rocks his hips up, wanting more of that delicious friction. His reward is to have Bucky gasp out loud and then give a full-body shudder as he reaches down to grab for Steve's right hand.

“Please,” he breathes, fumbling to make Steve let go of him as he continues to roll his hips down. Steve allows Bucky to drag his hand off, and then nearly chokes on his own breath when Bucky shoves it towards his crotch with another breathless, “Please.”

It's sudden and unexpected, but how is Steve supposed to say no? Even though his hand shakes as he slides the tips of his fingers over the cotton, his movements are firm and determined, and the certainty with which he wraps his hand around Bucky's cock manages to surprise even himself.

Gently, he rubs his thumb over the tip through the fabric, squeezing slow as he uses his other hand to drag Bucky's head down by the hair to kiss him deep. Bucky's breath is coming fast through his nose as he kisses Steve back, and Steve can tell by the way he squirms that Bucky wants him to pick up the pace. Only, Steve has no such plans. Fast is not on the cards right now. 

He kisses Bucky with tender determination, using the hand still curled in Bucky's hair to keep him in place as he jerks him off through his underwear in lazy, barely-there movements. When Bucky lets out a low, frustrated groan, Steve can't help the triumphant smirk that curls across his lips in response.

Bucky's hips jerk as another violent shiver courses through his limbs, and the fingers of his left hand curl against the front of Steve's shirt.

“Faster,” he hisses into the kiss, and Steve barely manages to suppress the primal growl that  threatens to rise out of his throat as he gives Bucky's hair a light tug, breaking the kiss. Instead, he latches his lips over the side of Bucky's throat, which turns the first syllable of Bucky's objection into a strangled groan, shutting him up in a way that's sinfully effective. Steve quickly uses his newfound leverage to nip his way up Bucky's neck, using his teeth against the skin before whispering a low, but decisive, “No,” into his ear.

Whining, Bucky tips his head even further back as he gives a pointed thrust into Steve's fist.

“Patience,” Steve hums, feeling a jolt of surprise at how rough his own voice has gotten in just a few minutes. Bucky jolts too, but judging by the sudden moisture seeping through the fabric of his shorts, Steve figures it's not out of surprise. 

On a whim, Steve wraps his lips around Bucky's earlobe, and gives it a light suck, humming under his breath. Bucky instantly gives another shiver, followed by a whimper that boils Steve's blood. By now, Bucky's fingers are clutching at Steve's shirt so hard, it's a wonder he hasn't torn through the garment yet, and Steve finds himself wondering exactly what it would take to make Bucky accomplish that.

Experimentally, he moves his lips down and gives Bucky’s neck a shallow bite, and the noise that rises out of Bucky's throat in response is ravenous enough to make Steve's very teeth vibrate with it. If Steve ever needed a sign that Bucky's into the whole rough-and-dirty, that right there would be it.

With a growl, Steve grabs around Bucky's hip, and with a quick yank he rolls them both over, coming out on top. There, he settles his weight firmly between Bucky's legs to pin him down before continuing what he’d started by sucking a big bruising hickey right above the dip of Bucky's clavicle.

As he works, Steve takes his time to slide his hand up and down Bucky's torso, feeling Bucky's nipple pebble through his shirt when his fingers pass over it. It makes him pause to rub his thumb over the peak in a lazy circle, and his stomach clenches with excitement when Bucky moans at the touch. God, Steve could listen to Bucky making those sounds forever, and he quickly slips his hand underneath the hem of the shirt to repeat the movement skin-on-skin.

“Shit…” Bucky hisses as Steve drags the shirt up, scratching blunt fingernails over Bucky's ribs to make him arch up into the touch with another moan. Bucky haphazardly grabs for the curve of Steve's shoulders as Steve then promptly drops his head to suck at an exposed nipple with an ardent moan. 

Shaking, Bucky curls up in a spasm to bury his gasp against the top of Steve's head at the same time as he brings one leg up to hook his ankle around Steve's knee for leverage. As he rocks his crotch against Steve's stomach, he fumbles his fingers into Steve's hair and holds tight while Steve flicks his tongue against his chest in a teasing swipe.

Meanwhile, Steve is trying his best not to be as crude as to simply hump the mattress, but it's hard – and not only figuratively speaking. Every time Bucky rocks against him, Steve can feel Bucky's ass brush against the top of his cock. Each roll of Bucky's hips sends a jolt of pleasure through Steve's body, and it's absolutely, positively maddening. The noises, the feeling of Bucky's fingernails scratching against his scalp, the taste of Bucky's skin on his tongue… 

It's too good to be true. Not in a million years would Steve have imagined that this would happen other than in his wildest dreams. However, he decides, if this really is just a dream conjured by his sleeping brain, then at least he's going to make the best of it.

Pushing himself up on his elbow, Steve uses his other hand to grab around the back of Bucky's knee. Hoisting the leg higher so that it's pressed against the side of his hip, he manages to uses the same grip to yank Bucky further down the bed, pressing them together  _ properly. _ Steve can feel the length of Bucky's cock slot up alongside his, and that feeling alone is enough to make Steve's own dick give a hard twitch with excitement.

He lifts his gaze – perhaps to say something, or simply as an attempt to orient himself in the darkness – but as he does, he finds himself staring straight into Bucky's eyes, and he freezes.

Bucky is looking up at him through his lashes. His chest is rising and falling in swift, panting breaths, and the expression on his face is equally as dazed as it is focused. For a moment they stay like that, looking at each other through the dim. Then, Bucky confidently reaches out and splays his hand over Steve's clothed stomach, rubbing slowly up and down.

“Take this off,” he whispers.

The thud Steve's heart gives at that is hard enough to make his breath stutter, and he immediately lets Bucky's leg drop onto the mattress as he reaches down to grab and drag his shirt up and over his head.

He tosses the garment over the edge of the bed, not really caring where it lands, because Bucky’s hand is back on his stomach to rub enticing circles over his skin. He can feel the goosebumps rise in the wake of his fingers, and it takes all he has to keep himself from shaking.

Silently, Steve follows with his eyes as Bucky then slides his hand down to hook a finger into the band of Steve's underwear before giving him a long, pointed look.

Not needing the verbal order this time, Steve reaches down and pulls himself free. He can feel himself flush hot under Bucky's scrutinizing gaze as he continues to drag his palm over himself in a slow, lazy stroke, and he's suddenly very grateful that Bucky actually can't see the embarrassed blush on his cheeks.

Steve, on the other hand can see through the darkness just fine, and as Bucky licks his lips at the sight of Steve's cock, Steve can't help the low whine that tumbles from his own lips in response.

Bucky's hands are steady as he grabs around Steve's hips to pull him forward, and Steve both envies him his sniper-nerves and hates him from staying so calm. Still, he goes with it, helpless in his compliance as he falls down on top of Bucky's body to once again brace himself on his elbow against the mattress.

The feeling if exhilaration when Bucky leans up to kiss him is close to numbing, and Steve moans into it as he cups Bucky's jaw with his free hand to steady himself.

They kiss again, but this time the pace is slower, more controlled. This time, Bucky seems set on keeping a languid pace as well, and damn, he's really getting into it.

He alters between biting and tugging at Steve's lower lip with his teeth, as well as teasing him with his tongue. Just like his flirty personality, Bucky's way of kissing is playful, and shivers race down Steve's spine with every flick of his tongue. It's a game, Steve knows. As Bucky's teeth bite into the flesh of Steve's lower lip for the fourth time, Steve snorts out a low chuckle, because two can play  _ that _ game.

He grins when Bucky gasps as Steve retaliates by shoving his hand down the front of Bucky's shorts to wrap his hand around his cock. It's thick, and curves against Steve's palm, and Bucky arches his chest up with a moan and a sharp thrust of his hips as Steve begins to stroke it.

Wordlessly, Bucky grabs around the back of Steve's head, and Steve takes the hint as he dips his head down to flick at one of Bucky's nipples with his tongue before biting down loosely.

Bucky keens, loud and shameless, and then freezes up.

“Did you lock the door?” he asks, panting, and Steve pauses as he lifts himself up to look down at him.

“Yeah,” he replies. “But don't worry. I checked, and the barracks are basically empty. No one can hear us.”

For a moment, Bucky just frowns, and Steve feels a stab of panic. Maybe he shouldn't have said that? Perhaps it would have been better to let the outside world go unmentioned? What if Bucky suddenly changes his mind?

Then Bucky suddenly grins, shaking his head as he reaches down and takes a hold of Steve's dick, making Steve gasp with surprise.

“I don't care,” Bucky whispers slowly, still smiling. It's a sinful sound, wicked and dirty, and if Bucky can feel the effect it has on Steve in the grasp of his palm, then Steve no longer has the presence of mind to be embarrassed about it.

He dives down, and mashes his lips to Bucky's with a low growl, pushing his tongue into Bucky's mouth, and even as Steve begins to stroke his cock again, Bucky doesn't stop smiling. His eyes are bright even in the dark of the room, and he feels alive beneath Steve's weight in a way he hasn't in a very long time. He pumps Steve's shaft in steady strokes, up and down, encouraging tingles of pleasure to travel through Steve's skin until Steve's trembling with the need for  _ more _ .

His hips thrust forward, trying to urge Bucky into a quicker pace, and at that Bucky just hums under his breath as he leans up to kiss him. 

“Patience, remember?”

“Jerk,” Steve mutters against his lips, and Bucky chuckles, low and dirty.

Steve kisses Bucky's throat, turning the chuckle into a groan as Bucky tips his head back to allow him space, and Steve uses the momentary distraction to shift his hand around until he has both his and Bucky's dicks in a joint grip.

Bucky hands over the reins without any fuss, and as Steve kisses him again, Bucky reaches up and wraps both his arms around Steve's neck with a contented sigh. 

“God, I love your hands…”

It's such a simple comment; such an innocent thing to mention, and yet Steve feels as if it's the greatest compliment he's ever gotten. Not that he's capable of properly returning it; all he manages is a low grunt as he twists his wrist to rub their shafts together, and the noise Bucky makes against his ear as he does is enough to make Steve's mind soar.

In turn, Bucky is clinging to Steve body, and his fingers dig into Steve's shoulders with blunt nails raking down his back as Bucky continues to rock himself in and out of Steve's fist. And throughout it all, they keep kissing. On lips, on necks, nipping at lips and earlobes with electric sparks coursing through their veins with every move they make.

Every so often, Steve will pause in the middle of a kiss to pull away just far enough to get a look at Bucky's face; to take in the glow of his eyes, the desperate, pleading knot of his brow, the plump curve of his mouth, wishing he could use his other hand to touch him too instead of simply holding himself up.

At this exact moment – in spite of the lack of light – Steve's convinced that Bucky’s the most gorgeous thing he'll ever see in his entire life.

“I'm getting close,” he breathes, upon which Bucky nods, biting at his lower lip.

“Good,” he replies, making Steve tremble with how absolutely  _ gone _ he sounds; the raw force of his voice, however low, causing Steve's hips to shove forward out of their own volition.

“I'm gonna come,” he warns, and Bucky moans out loud as he pulls his head back to look Steve in the eye with a bewildered gasp.

“Say that again,” he orders.

“I'm gonna come,” Steve repeats through clenched teeth, and this time he can feel Bucky's cock twitch as he does so.

“Again,” Bucky gasps. “Oh, god, Stevie, again.”

“I'm gonna come…” Steve whispers between pants. “I'm gonna come, Buck. Oh, my god, I'm gonna  _ come.” _

“Yes,” Bucky hisses. “Yes, yes,  _ fuck _ , sweetheart,  _ yes _ .”

Steve's eyelids flutter as another gasp leaves his throat, and  the muscles in his arm tremble with the force it takes for him to hold up his weight. His gaze is getting clouded, the struggle to keep his eyes open to look Bucky in the eye growing more difficult by the second as he feels himself slowly falling apart. Bucky's lips are parted, his gaze is locked with Steve's, and as a final rambled warning tumbles off Steves tongue, Bucky's breath stalls, his fingers dig into the width of Steve's shoulders, and his jaw goes slack. 

He comes completely silently, locked up in Steve’s arms and with every last muscle twitching and quivering as his orgasm quakes through him. Steve feels the warmth of Bucky's release coat his fingers as it dribbles over his hand, and as Bucky finally manages a throaty gasp for breath, Steve's last remaining barrier breaks.

He explodes from within, like a star turned supernova. His eyes lose vision with the image of Bucky's blissed-out face burning into his mind as the climax races through him. Liquid ice shoots up his spine to burst into a cascade of blinding light behind his eyelids, prisms of pleasure dancing inside is head like snow falling through the air as he feels himself spill in a series of hot, wet gushes over Bucky's stomach.

He has no idea whether he makes any sounds as he comes, because the only thing he can focus on are the noises coming out of Bucky's mouth. Steve continues to stroke them both, milking the last pleasurable moan out of Bucky’s body until Bucky begins to squirm and push at his bicep to make his hand stop. Then he lets go, and collapses on top of Bucky with just barely enough presence of thought to fall slightly to the left as to not crush the other man beneath his weight.

Bucky's still got his arms in a loose loop around Steve's shoulders, and Steve can feel Bucky push his face against the crook of his shoulder as Steve lands on his side next to him. 

The room fills with heavy breathing as they both slowly come down, and Steve suddenly finds himself stroking his unsoiled hand slowly up and down the side of Bucky's neck and shoulder, unable to tell for how long he's been doing it.

Bucky doesn't seem to mind it, however, as he simply buries his face even closer to Steve's chest with a pleased sigh when Steve's fingers skate against the edge of his ear.

“Wow…” Steve hears him murmur, making Steve's lip twitch up in amusement.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“That was…” Bucky continues, but seems to lose the thread halfway through the sentence, and simply ends it with another dazed sigh instead. Steve gets it.

“Yeah,” he says again. It appears to be the only word his brain is capable of producing at the moment. Bucky hums, tightening his grip around Steve's shoulders. Then he goes silent for a moment.

“I liked it,” he announces after awhile.

“Me too,” Steve replies, but Bucky just gives a low grunt.

“No,” he says, “I mean… I liked it  _ now _ , of course, but… I liked it, you know, before.. That time the radiator when out…”

Steve’s hand stills. His throat suddenly feels bone dry, and he seems to have lost the basic reflex of how to make his heart beat as his brain tries to make sense of what he just heard.

“What?”

It's not really the question he wants to ask, but it comes out anyway, and Bucky groans as he rolls fully onto his back once more. He stares up at the ceiling, not looking at Steve even though the room is dark enough to make the avoidance in itself unnecessary.

“What I mean to say is... I liked  _ you _ .  _ Like _ you. As in now too.”

“You… like me.”

“Is there an echo in here?” Bucky grumbles impatiently. “Yes. I like you. I've liked you since— Well, for a long fucking time, alright?”

Steve swallows, somehow.

“Why didn't you—?” he starts, and once again Bucky groans, cutting him off.

“Because I got scared,” he confesses. “Okay? I'm not proud of it.” 

“Scared of  _ what? _ ” Steve asks, perplexed. “If you liked me….”

“Isn't it obvious?” Bucky retorts, glancing at him. Steve shakes his head, and Bucky sighs, pushing himself up on one elbow.

“You know what happens to fellas who mess around with other guys. If people had found out about you and me, you know damn well that they wouldn't have come for me first. They would've gone after you, and I couldn't risk that.”

“I can handle myself,” Steve answers, and Bucky snorts out loud.

“Well,  _ now _ you can,” he agrees pointedly. “But back then you would've been easy pickings for just about anyone with a fist, and you know it.”

Steve pinches his lips together, because yeah, perhaps that is a pretty good argument.

“But why didn't you tell me?” he asks instead. “Why did you act like such a—”

“Fat-head?” Bucky supplies helpfully.

“I was gonna say ‘womanizer’,” Steve corrects, “but whatever floats your boat.”

Bucky snorts, but then he sighs heavily. “I don't know,” he confessed dejectedly. “I guess, I— I didn't want to give you false hope.”

“How would it be false?” Steve asks, his voice rising into a disbelieve squawk. “You just told me you liked me!”

“Because we could never do anything about it!” Bucky explains impatiently. “Don't you get it? We would’ve been hunted down like dogs, and you would have gotten hurt.”

“But I  _ did _ get hurt,” Steve objects. “By  _ you. _ ”

“I know,” Bucky whines, closing his eyes. “Believe me, Stevie, I know. And I didn't want to, but I couldn't risk anyone finding out. For your sake, don't you see? I knew it would break your heart, but at least you'd be  _ alive _ . You wouldn't be with me, but you’d be  _ safe _ .” Steve watches Bucky raise his hand towards his face, as if he wants to brush his fingers against his cheek, but then Bucky seems to change his mind as he pulls the hand back, curling it into a fist.

“I couldn't be that selfish…” he ends simply.

Steve looks at Bucky's hand in silence. Then he reaches down and grabs it, wiggling his fingers into the gap of Bucky's own until they're laced together in a firm grip.

“You're lucky you're the bravest fella I know,” he says, making Bucky turn his head to frown at him.

“How come?”

“Because you sure as hell ain't the brightest.”

For a long moment, Bucky just stares at him. Then he laughs, shaking his head, and Steve smiles as he reaches over to pull Bucky's head forward to press their foreheads together.

“You really are a fat-head,” he murmurs softly, and then he muffles Bucky's attempted objection by kissing him again. 

In Steve's opinion, the kiss would've been free to last for as long as the two of them had air left in their lungs, but it doesn't take more than a few seconds before Bucky pulls away.

“We should clean up,” he says with a pointed glance down their bodies. “I don't know how those super-genes of yours work with this, but I'm starting to crust.”

Steve grumbles, but has to admit that cleaning up might be a good idea. Bucky quickly pulls his undershirt over his head, and uses it to wipe off his soiled stomach, along with his hand. After having located Steve's previously discarded shirt to give themselves a final, more thorough once-over, they rearrange the cover of the bed to settle down to sleep. Naked, their underwear having joined the growing pile of laundry on the floor, Steve snuggles himself close to Bucky's back, much like earlier, and presses a winding trail of kisses across Bucky's shoulder and neck while he listens to the pleased hums of content that Bucky gives in response.

“I could get used to this,” Bucky admits as he stifles a yawn into his end of the pillow.

“Had you not been such a stubborn jerk, you could have been used to it already,” Steve points out with a light caress of his hand down the curve between Bucky's rib and hip.

“You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?” Bucky grumbles. Steve doesn't reply, but he does give Bucky's hip an affectionate squeeze as he kisses the back of his neck one more time.

“I'm gonna go nuts not being able to do this during missions, you know,” Bucky continues. “Like, more nuts than normal.”

“You'll do just fine,” Steve assures him. Pulling him in with a firm grip around his torso, Steve snuggles his face into the crook of Bucky's neck. “In the meantime, I think I know of a good hotel on London where we can stay.”

“Really?” Bucky pops his head off the pillow with an intrigued tilt of his head, and Steve hums an affirmative against the nape of his neck.

“At least until our next mission.”

“Right,” Bucky mutters. “God, I hope it's not another one of those supply raids again. They bore the hell out of me.”

“Nah,” Steve says, frowning. “I talked to Peggy earlier, and it sounded to me like there was something bigger afoot this time.”

“Exactly how big are we talking?” Bucky ask worriedly.

“About the size of a train,” Steve replies. “I don't know the details, but Peggy mentioned the Alps. And something about an valuable asset of Hydra’s.”

“Huh,” Bucky gruffs as he settles down once more, grabbing Steve's hand and holding it tight against his chest. “As long as it sticks a spoke in Hydra's wheel, then I'm in.”

Steve laughs. “As if I'd ever be able to take Hydra down without my best guy,” he teases, and it might be his imagination, but if the rush of blood had a sound, he's pretty sure he just heard Bucky blush. 

“Smooth talker…” Bucky mutters, and Steve closes his eyes as he breathes out a long, contented sigh against Bucky's skin. 

The room falls silent, and in less than a minute, both Steve and Bucky are sound asleep, wrapped up tight beneath the covers.

 

/\/\/\

 

Steve opens his eyes. 

The room is still dark, but there's moonlight filtering in through the window, and Steve can clearly make out Bucky's silhouette in the gloom. 

Slowly, Steve peels the covers off and crawls out of the bed. He knows that Bucky has registered that he's awake even before his feet hits the carpet, and as Steve paws across the room to wrap his arms around Bucky's waist from behind, Bucky simply leans his head to the side, giving Steve enough space to press a slow, tender kiss against his neck. 

Outside the window, New York stretches towards the horizon, and the gleaming lights flicker and move as the city breathes in the warm summer night.

“Can't sleep?” Steve murmurs against Bucky's skin, brushing a few strands of Bucky's long hair out of the way with his nose.

Sighing, Bucky wraps his hands over Steve's own in a joint grip around his waistline. “Not really,” he admits.

Steve hums, nodding as he traces the golden seams of Bucky's knuckles. 

“Nightmares?” he asks.

Bucky snorts out a laugh, reaching back to ruffle Steve’s hair. “Not tonight,” he promises. “Just… too many thoughts in my head, I guess.”

“Wanna watch some TV?” Steve offers. “Take your mind off things?”

Smiling softly, Bucky turns around and gives Steve’s lips a swift kiss.

“Nah,” he says. “I’m good. But thanks.”

“Wanna come back to bed, then?” Steve compromises, upon which Bucky smiles and kisses him again, before walking ahead of him to the bed. Steve joins him, and Bucky takes his place with his back pressed tight against Steve's chest before Steve even has the time to get his feet back underneath the covers.

Silently, Steve reaches around Bucky's upper body to lace their fingers together; human flesh against steel, feeling the cold metal warm up in his grip. Bucky replies to the sentimental gesture by bringing their interlocked hands up and kiss the back of Steve’s hand, and Steve smiles as he nuzzles behind Bucky’s ear with a playful puff of breath through his nose.

“Am I still your best guy?” Bucky asks softly, and Steve kisses the back of his neck, squeezing his fingers.

“The best guy there is,” he promises.

Bucky hums, and Steve can tell that he's smirking as he kisses Steve’s hand again.

“Well,” Bucky muses. “I can think of at least  _ one _ better.”

Smiling, Steve chuckles and moves in to presses his forehead against the nape of Bucky's neck.

“Smooth talker…”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fic in the comments :)  
> You can always find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I do my best to respond to messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me. Just be patient, for I am a giant slow-poke XD <3
> 
>  
> 
>  **DETAILED WARNING DESCRIPTIONS (AKA SPOILERS) BELOW**  
>  Warnings of Violence in this fic includes Bucky losing his shit when Steve gets shot at by a Hydra agent, and due to previous circumstances, Bucky then beats said agent past unconciousness in a blind fit of rage.  
> Bucky also talks about his PTSD, and how he since his escape from Hydra's facility can't connect to his emotions anymore, and how the only time he actually felt something even reminding him of joy was when he slit a man's throat out in the fields of war.  
> There is also a scene depicting several Hydra agents resorting to suicide by cyanide capsules in their teeth in order to avoid being taken as prisoners for interrogation.


End file.
